The Guardian
by Wizard of night
Summary: ""Lily-" He said fiercely, grabbing his younger sister and brother by the arms. "Neither of you can ever tell about what happens to Dad. If you do they'll take him away because they think he's dangerous, and we'll never be able to see him, do you understand?" James never stops worrying, because when his dad's eyes glow gold, he can never be sure who he'll hurt next, or how badly.
1. Chapter 1

**The Guardian**

**By Wizard of Night**

**Caution: T Rating for Violence, Swearing, Later mentions of self-destructive behavior. **

Uh-Oh. The twelve year old watched his father's face contort and knew exactly what was coming. As the famous Harry Potter drew his hand back to strike his youngest son, James Sirius was in instant motion. With his lightning fast reflexes, he caught his father's hand in mid-motion, using his opposite arm to elbow Albus out of the way. He stared his father straight in the face as his eyes burned gold. He held him until they faded back to green, and Harry went limp in his hands and collapsed against the clean white walls of their family living room.

"Sorry, James," he groaned, massaging his head. "Who'd I hit this time?"

"No one," James replied quietly. "I stopped you in time."

Harry looked relieved, but James was growing angry. "Dad, I leave for Hogwarts in a week, and I swear you're getting worse. Who's going to protect Al and Lily while I'm gone and Mum's at work?"

Harry sighed. "I don't know, James, but I think you're right. The enchantment is growing stronger."

"So go to Saint Mungo's like Mum's been telling you all along, before it gets any stronger, and you really hurt one of us?"

"I don't think that's necessary, Ja-"

"IT IS NECESSARY!" James shouted. He pointed wildly across the room, where seven year old Lily was watching, wide-eyed. "YOU COULD REALLY HURT THEM! HOW WOULD IT BE IF YOU WAKE UP ONE DAY AND SHE'S LYING BLOODY ON THE FLOOR-"

"Go to your room, James." Harry said, walking off slowly.

James sunk dully down onto the scarlet couch, swiping at the tears beginning to run down his heavily freckled cheeks. He ran a hand through his hedge-like black hair as Lily and Albus, both crying openly, crawled up beside him. "It'll be alright," he assured them gently, hugging both. "We'll talk to Mum, we'll keep you safe."

Lily hiccupped. "W-Why is Daddy so bad sometimes?" she asked.

"Daddy can't control it." James replied wearily. "That's not really Dad when he's mean like that. It's the bad guy who cursed him."

"Why can't he stop? Grandma Molly would help him-"

"Lily-" He said fiercely, grabbing his younger sister and brother by the arms. "Neither of you can ever tell about what happens to Dad. If you do, they'll take him away because they think he's dangerous, and we'll never be able to see him, do you understand?"

"Let go, James, you're hurting me," Lily whimpered.

James loosened his grip but did not let go until both had nodded, then watched after them as they wandered away.


	2. Chapter 2

"He doesn't want to talk to you, alright? He has no opinion on anything and he doesn't want to be quoted in your freaking magazine." James snapped angrily into the reciever. He listened for a moment as something was said on the other line.

"No, he will not come to the phone, not even for a minute. He's not here, alright?"

"Visiting his second cousins twice removed in Afghanistan. Now shut the hell up and stop calling our house."

"If he knew I was talking to you? No, I don't think he would mind language like that in the slightest." James threw the phone back at the receiver with a clatter.

Albus looked gloomily up from his book. "Dad had that thing installed so we could contact the Grangers and the Figgs and the Dursleys and on and on and on without attracting attention, not so you throw it at things."

"I'm just so sick of hearing about the 'Chosen One'" James groaned.

"The _Prophet_ again?" Albus asked.

"No, Witch Weekly. Wanted to know Dad's opinion on dragon slaughters in Where-the–heck-istan."

"Wheretheheckistan again? Isn't that where the trouble was day before yesterday?"

James couldn't help but laugh, but he sobered immediately as his father charged in, eyes golden, and went straight for Albus. Albus was grabbed by the arms and swung into the air. James charged at his father, yanked Albus out of the air, and pushed his father against the wall. But this was evidently a bad one because his father fought back, swinging his fist into James's face and shoving him to the ground as he recoiled. James hooked both arms around his father's right leg. Harry kicked him off and his jaw crashed head-long into the seat of the chair. Cursing as blood rolled down his upper lip, he jumped onto his father's back as he turned toward Albus once again. "Duck, Al!" he shouted as Harry's fist lunged at his youngest son.

Albus ducked, but not quite in time, and his father's knuckles collided with his nose. There was a nasty crunch, and blood began pouring everywhere, staining his shirt and spattering onto the floor. Harry lunged again, grabbing him by the shoulders, and James lost his grip and crashed to the floor. He hooked a hand around his father's shirt and pulled back as hard as he could. Harry lost his balance and fell back on top of him, hitting his head on the table as he did so.

Al sunk back against the kitchen door and cried, blood still flowing from his nose, creating a pool on the floor. James lay subconscious beneath his father, blood from his mouth staining Harry's shirt. This was how Ginny found them, with Lily sitting sobbing next to Al, when she came home from work fifteen minutes later.

She gently pulled Harry off James, examined him briefly, and decided he would be alright. She pointed her wand at James and muttered, "_Enervate_."

James sat up instantly. "Mum! Is Albus okay? He didn't get Lily too, did he? Whose blood? Owwww, bloody hell, what happened to my mouth?"

"You're alright, James. Everyone's going to be fine." Ginny couldn't believe her little Gryffindor. White as a ghost, eye black and blue, missing a couple teeth and dripping blood, and the first words out of his mouth are about his brother and sister.

"Is Al okay?"

"He's fine, as soon as I fix his nose."

James immediately shrugged his mother away and crawled to the door, where his brother was still slumped; a cold cloth against his nose.

"Are you alright, Albus? Where'd he get you? He didn't get you as well, did he, Lily?" he asked anxiously.

"Relax, James, it's all my blood." Albus said. "And would you let Mum fix you up already? You don't look so hot."

James started to cry, and Ginny pulled her son to her chest, murmuring soothing words as she ran her wand over his injuries.


	3. Chapter 3

James paced back and forth anxiously. His brother and sister sat on his bed, watching him. Albus was toying nervously with a corner of James's scarlet and gold bedspread. James was about to leave for Hogwarts, and they were all in a panic over what would happen without James to protect them. He was saying, "I've placed protective charms on the doors to all our rooms. If you run in there and shut the door, he won't be able to bet in. Albus, do you still have Savior in his cage?"

Albus nodded, and said, "He's in my room, but I think he needs to be let out to fly more. He gets fat with just owl treats instead of real food.

"That's fine. Try and keep him in there during the day and let him out after midnight, then he can fly around but he'll still be there if you need to send him to me. If it's an emergency, like a big one, floo over to Hogwarts, but only a real emergency, one that you can't fix in the next couple hours. Remember you have to ask specifically for the headmistress's office. I can always get to you if you really need me. I also-" he paused to lean over his packed trunk, rummaged for a moment, and pulled out two wrapped packages. "-got you these. They're multi-way communicators, dad told me about them. Just say my name into the mirror, and if I have my mirror, which I always will, I'll be able to talk to you and tell you what to do."

He paused and tugged another couple of packages from his trunk, handing one to each Albus and Lily. "These are pocket sneakoscopes. Carry one with you, and it should whistle when Dad's getting dangerous, to give you a little bit of warning. If you hear them go off, or you know he's getting dangerous, run straight to your rooms, close the door, and contact me through either the mirror or Savior."

He paused, pulling yet more packages from his trunk. "These are from Uncle George's shop. They're pocket charms. These blue ones are disillusionment charms, rip them open, dump the sparks on your head, and you should become close to invisible. The gold ones are shield charms. The red ones are Stunning spells, they're only for emergencies. The yellow ones are reparo, the purple are healing spells; use them to fix up after a rampage. All but the shield charm you need to throw directly on the person or object you intend the charm to affect. I think I've bought enough of everything to keep you ready at least until Christmas, but if you run low, floo to Uncle George's shop and pick up some more. You can do that as well to pick up some shield cloaks and the like if my spells stop working, though they shouldn't. And remember," he said, glancing at his watch as Ginny called up the stairs, "Don't tell _anyone_!"

The oldest Potter slammed the lid on his trunk, pulled his new black cloak around his shoulders, and hugged his siblings. "Stick close to each other," he warned quietly, "And remember, I'll always be right around the corner if you need me."

And with a swish of his cloak, the Guardian was gone, though they could hear his trunk thumping down the stairs, and his voice calling, "Coming, Mum," as he left for his third year at Hogwarts. The younger two were on their own.


	4. Chapter 4

James barely arrived in time for the train, and found himself slumped in a carriage with his friends and a few others. Aaron Skelling was probably James's best friend; a tall boy with as many freckles as James and short, red hair. Danny Apollo was also a great kid, with short, almost spiky dark blonde hair and green eyes. Liam Retter was a sulky sort of boy with a spatter of freckles and darker red hair. Connor Halleran had brown hair and eyes, and a slightly annoying nervous habit of cracking his knuckles when he was tired or upset. He was also only about four and a half feet tall. James's cousin, Rose, and her friend Abby Keller also floated in and out as the boys discussed Quidditch, specifically Puddlemere United, who was third from the top of the league, and the Gryffindor Quidditch team, which most of them were hoping to join.

As the train approached Hogwarts, they also exchanged stories of their summers, traded chocolate frog cards, played exploding snap, and had contests to see who could develop the strangest combination of Bertie Botts Every Flavor Bean. Dan won, having not only discovered Anchovy, Peanut Butter, Carpet Cleaner, Treacle, and Orange Marmalade, but also eaten them together. However, James's heart was in none of it, and neither was Aaron's. His attention had been grabbed when the deck of Exploding Snap had blown up in James's eyebrows for the first time in living memory, and while the others had laughed, Dan jeering that that would look "bloody brilliant at the feast", Aaron had noticed that James didn't even seem to care. Thus he was more observant when James was unusually quiet the entire ride, not even laughing and gagging with the rest when Liam puked up a combination of Tripe, Curry, and Pepper in his attempt to outshine Dan. He didn't comment as he didn't want to embarrass his friend, but resolved to keep an eye out during the feast.

James himself was too far away to even notice that Connor had gotten Luna Lovegood, the only chocolate frog card he was missing from the War Hero section of his collector's album. His mind was on Albus and Lily. They would be alone in their rooms, or maybe alone together, while their father rampaged the house, throwing things and shouting. His face would be all red, his eyes golden and pupils dilated, and he would yell and try and attack them. Albus would drag Lily behind him to the nearest bedroom, where he would hopefully be able to shut the door. He would hold her and comfort her and sing her songs or tell stories as he had seen James do until Dad grew quiet or Mum came home and did spells to fix him. He hoped. What if they were backed into a corner and couldn't run, or Al bit off more than he could chew and tried to attack back? What if right now they were lying beaten and bloody in a heap in the corner as their father rampaged around them-

"JAMES!" Aaron's voice interrupted his thoughts at a shout, deeply jarring him.

"What?" he snapped, looking around.

"That's the fourth time I've said your name, mate, I thought I'd lost you for a minute there."

James felt a bit guilty because Aaron looked awfully spooked, but now wasn't the time. He stood shakily, pushing through the other boys. "I'm fine….. Bathroom." He added at their questioning stares.

He stumbled out of the compartment and bolted for the bathroom, locking the door behind him and frantically fumbling for his mirror. He spoke clearly into it, "Albus Potter."

His brother's face appeared into the mirror and broke into a grin. "James!"

"You guys alright?" he asked, his voice trembling with relief.

"Yeah, we're fine. Dad had a bit of a thing earlier-" James felt his hands tighten around the mirror, "-But Mum was home and no one was hurt."

"Thank Merlin," James breathed, sitting down on the closed toilet seat, knees shaking.

Someone started banging on the door. "James? James!"

"Gotta go," he whispered to his brother, "Call me if you need _anything_, alright?"

His brother nodded, and the mirror went blank. He shoved it back into his pocket as the person outside shouted, "Darn it, James, are you okay? Open the door, I mean it!"

He slid open the bolt and yanked at the door handle to reveal Aaron who, judging by the wand he was drawing from his pocket and the expression on his face, was prepared to blast it open. The wand was replaced as he saw James, but the expression was not. "Man, James, don't do that to me! You look awful. You didn't throw up, did you?"

"No, I'm alright," James muttered, not quite meeting his eyes. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the cracked lavatory mirror behind him and saw his friend was right. His freckles stood out a mile on his pale, twisted face, and his hair was a mess. Well, more of a mess than normal.

"What was that?" Aaron persisted, "Was it something we did? Did something happen over the summer?"

They're alright, James reminded himself. He forced a smile. "Nah, I'm okay. Too many chocolate frogs, I guess."

Aaron didn't look entirely convinced, but he let the subject drop. As they turned to go back to the compartment, James touched the mirror in his pocket. They're alright, he thought, They're alright.


	5. Chapter 5

Professor Cade Beekman strolled up and down the rows of desks, his hands behind his back and his faced arranged in a prominent scowl. The third year Gryffindors sat in their first class of the school year, Transfiguration, copying notes from the board. James stared at the light reflecting from his least favorite teacher's dark, parted hair and thickly framed glasses as he twirled his quill in his hand. He had had nightmare after nightmare the night before, and though he was only just staying awake now, he was wondering how much trouble he'd be in if he skived the first day; he needed to be rested for try outs that evening. Not even the teacher's frequent glares, suggesting he was quite close to receiving detention, could wake him from his stupor. There was only one thing that could, really, apart from a rampaging hippogriff, and unfortunately, that one thing happened midway through the lesson.

Dan had just prodded him in the back for the third or fourth time, as a reminder that they were in fact in class, and Professor Beekman looked ready to dock points from Gryffindor, something the head of Slytherin did remarkably often. The professor was indeed heading in their direction, looking quite annoyed, when James heard the voice. Albus's voice.

"James? James where are you? We need help, like, right now! I can't make the bleeding stop, James!"

He felt his stomach flip. He leapt out of his seat in a panic, almost crashing head-long into the irate transfiguration teacher. "Mr. Potter, what do you think-"

He shouted the first thing that came to mind as he shoved past the professor and towards the door. "Gonna throw up!"

He didn't turn back to see his friends concerned looks, the teacher's recoil, the Slytherin's titters and smirks. He took the stairs outside the Transfiguration room at a dead sprint, bolted down the corridor, and threw open the door of the first empty classroom he came to, ducking behind an upturned desk as he grabbed the mirror from his pocket.

"What is it?" he panted.

His brother's arm, his chin, the edge of his glasses- Finally Albus's face popped into view. "Lily, she's hurt. We're hiding, but Dad's still going strong, and there's blood everywhere… the charms aren't working."

"Tilt the mirror so I can see where she's hurt," James ordered, trying his best to remain calm.

The mirror blurred out of focus for a moment, but then James could see a messy cut on the back of her thin, freckled leg.

"Can you hear me, Al?" James asked.

"Yeah."

"Alright, I'll walk you through. That looks like Sectumsempera, which is pretty much the fourth Unforgivable. Those aren't very strong spells I gave you, so they won't work on a Sectumsempera cut. Where are you hiding?"

"The bathroom downstairs. We couldn't make it to our rooms, he had his wand."

"That's perfect, Albus. Leave the mirror for a moment, there's a brown glass bottle in the medicine cabinet labeled 'Essence of Dittany'. Tell me when you've got it."

He waited a few moments, watching desperately as blood seeped out of his sister's leg, until Albus said, "Here."

"Alright, now pour about two capfuls over the cut, wrap it in gauze, and wait until Mum gets home, she should be able to do something else with it. Did you say he's been using his wand now, Al?"

"Oh yeah, a lot."

"Alright, then under my bed there's a small metal box with some change in it, take that and get some Expelliarmous charms from Uncle George when Mom gets home, alright. And when Dad calms down, go to your rooms and stay there, when he has a bad one he usually has another one just after."

"Got it, thanks Jamesie."

"Don't call me that," he chided gently, "And don't worry about it."

"Love you."

"Love you too. Stay safe."

James watched as his brother's face disappeared from the mirror, then put his head down on his knees and sobbed.

* * *

"Alright!" Ted Lupin barked over the voices of the twenty-some Gryffindors assembled at the Quidditch pitch. James had heard Harry giving Teddy tips on how to run try-outs, and it looked like the tall, sandy haired seventh year was going to follow every one of them. "I want you to split into groups of about five, and then we'll take a quick run around the pitch, alright?"

James found himself lumped together with, Dan and Aaron, as well as a fourth year called Nicco Salvitonis and Fidelio Micheals' brother, Braden, a third year. It took two hours, a crashed Nimbus, two bloody noses, and a lot of yelling on Teddy's part, but in the end they had a proper team. James had easily saved all ten goals thrown his way, thus making himself keeper. Aaron had pulled beater, being responsible for both bloody noses. Brad Micheals became his partner, and Dan was appointed chaser after an excellent try out. James noticed he worked quite well with Teddy and Fidelio.

Elated for the first time in months, James made his way to the changing rooms with the others. Maybe it messed with his head, because though he remembered to leave his undershirt on while changing, he was careless, and let it ride up his back as he pulled his polo shirt over his head…

When he surfaced from the suffocating materiel, it was to a silent locker room. Teddy had just come out of the showers, everyone else had left.

"James, what's wrong with your back?" Teddy asked in a dangerously low voice.

James's mouth went dry, and he felt his heart speed up. "M-my back? There's nothing wrong with my back."

"Turn around and let me see, then," Teddy demanded.

"N-No. Why should you see my back?"

"Why shouldn't I?" Teddy asked, taking a step closer.

James stepped back. "That's an invasion of privacy, you can't just-"

Teddy stepped forward again. "You used to beg me to come in the _bathtub_ with you, and you don't want me to see your _back_? Because it's an invasion of _privacy_?"

"It's just a bruise, it's nothing, I was fighting with Al the other day, alright? And I haven't wanted to take a bath with you since I was about six, that's just wrong…"

"Since when have you gotten so defensive about fighting with Al? Let me see your back, James." Teddy's hair was turning crimson, a sure sign he was about to blow his top.

"No! There's no reason to-"

"_Imobulous!_" He shouted.

"_Protego!_" James shot back without thought, then watched in awe as the beam of red light bounced off his shield. "Did you just try to curse me?" He asked dangerously.

"What don't you want me to see? What are you hiding, James?"

James swallowed. Calm, he told himself, Calm. "I didn't want you to see because it's ridiculous that a ten year old managed to shove me that hard. I fell and hit my back on the bedpost. It's nothing to worry about. Here." He lifted the shirt just enough to reveal the bruising across his lower back, praying he was correct in remembering the welts and scars to be across his upper back.

Teddy seemed to want to say something else, but at that moment, the door was flung open, and the Ravenclaws began filing in. As the two left and Teddy made his way back to the common room, James hung back, heart still pounding in his chest as he fingered the mirror in his pocket.


	6. Chapter 6

"Hey, James!"

"Hello, _Professor_," James said, holding his arms in the air to indicate that he did not especially want to be hugged in front of half his Herbology class.

Neville Longbottom, one of his Dad's best friends apart from Uncle Ron, got the message and made do with ruffling his already ridiculously messy hair. "You missed class yesterday," he pointed out.

"Yeah, wasn't feeling to great," James replied casually.

Neville- _Professor Longbottom_-smirked. "Still managed to make it to Quidditch though, didn't you. Congratulations."

"Thanks. Aaron made it too, he's beater."

Neville rolled his eyes. "Yes, I believe the majority of the school heard him shouting about it over breakfast this morning, something to do with why Mr. Micheals made his way past my office yesterday with blood dripping from his nose, cursing the "bloody red haired beater."

The others were laughing, but James had frozen. _Leaning against the door, his face deathly white. Blood pouring down his t-shirt, smearing his face, droplets on the floor. _

"Are you alright, James?" Neville's face swam back into focus; his eyes alight with concern behind his sparkling gold spectacles.

"Yeah, I'm good, I- err, could I use the lavatory before lesson starts, Professor?"

The man's frown deepened, but before he could do more than nod, the flustered boy had run for the toilets in the back of the green house.

He pulled the mirror once again from his robe pocket. "Albus Potter," he said clearly.

The mirror remained blank. "Al?"

The mirror flickered to life, and he caught sight of flickering light, one burst of red, and heard a muffled shriek. "One minute, James, bit busy!" his brother's voice called. The mirror went blank again.

James heart had jumped to his throat. "Al? Albus, please be alright? Al?"

There was silence. James tore from the small stall, nearly head into Professor Longbottom.

"What's wrong, James, are you-"

"No!" James interrupted. "I-I mean, please, professor, could I go see Madam Pomfrey? Now?"

"I think you'd better… See me after lessons, James, I want to-"

James was off and running.

Neville frowned, but turned and went back to the class.

James didn't even bother to try to make it into the castle. He sprinted toward the Whomping Willow, his Dad had told him how to get inside ages ago. Whipping his wand out as he ran, he flicked it towards the knot at the base of the tree and cried, "_Immobulus_!" The tree halted in its movement, and James dove between the roots, crawled a few feet into the passage way, and yanked the mirror from his pocket. "Albus Potter!"

For one, heart-wrenching moment, nothing happened, but then his _sister's_ face appeared in the mirror. Her red pigtails were askew, and there was a wild scorch mark along the side of her face. "James?" she panted, "I was just gonna call you, Albus hurt his leg!"

"What do you mean, hurt his leg?" James gawped. Calm, he reminded himself.

"It looks all funny…" Lily said quietly, and it looked for a moment like she would cry. "He said he thinks it's broken, and he's all pale and now he's not moving, and he broke his glasses too."

"He's not moving? Is he unconscious, Lily?"

"What's unconsous?" she asked.

"Did he pass out?" James clarified.

"It think so… I'm scared, James."

Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. "It's going to be fine, Lily. Do you remember how to use the floo on your own?"

"I think so." She said nervously.

James knew he was taking an awful chance. If Lily said Mum's work address wrong, she could end up anywhere, the minister's office, Knockturn alley, _Germany_… Assuming she could even reach the floo powder. This would never work.

"I'm bleeding, too James. My side really hurts."

"Show me, Lily.

She tilted the mirror at the side of her pale yellow t-shirt, it was dark with blood.

"Hang in there, Lily, I'm coming!" he said.

He stowed the mirror back in his pocket. How the hell was he going to manage it? He couldn't apparate, brooms would take hours, so he'd have to floo. But on the off chance he could find an empty teacher's office, they would all be guarded. It was his best bet, though.

He pulled the marauders map from his robe pocket. He'd taken to carrying it around, it was so useful… "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," he muttered, and tapped his foot frantically as the lines of ink took their time spreading across the parchment. Aha, the defense classroom was empty, that had a fireplace. He located the class; they seemed to be doing a practical in the owlery. He would have to be fast. Shoving the map alongside the mirror in his pocket, be crawled out from beneath the willow and headed at a run for Professor O'Keefe's classroom.

When confronted with a locked door, he pulled out his wand. "_Specialis Revealo_." He muttered.

He smirked at the results, a simple locking spell. "_Alohamora_," he commanded.

The door clicked open. He ducked inside, shutting it behind him, and crossed quickly but quietly to the fireplace. He stood inside the empty fireplace, and grabbing a handful of grainy white powder, he declared, "14 Raven Road, Godric's Hollow."

It was fortunate for James that he'd not hesitated, because the emerald green flames had only just died down when a tall man with straw colored hair reentered his classroom and settled down at his desk, wondering as he did so how he could have forgotten to lock his door.

James was still spinning when he tumbled out of the fire, and as he landed roughly on his side, he realized he'd made one terribly incorrect assumption, and forgotten to ask his little sister one very important question.


	7. Chapter 7

His brother's limp body flew through the air, narrowly missing cracking the ten year old's head on the stone mantle. Instead he landed at James's feet, blood running down the side of his face. Lily was screaming at the top of her lungs as Harry swung her over his shoulder by the legs and made to ram her against the wall. Cursing his little sister for being so damn light and easy to throw around, James flung himself between her and the wall, causing her head to swing into his face, knocking out what seemed to be yet another tooth, though he was more worried about the blood now seeping from the gash his tooth had made in her head. Harry pulled her back and swung her again, this time letting her go as James caught her, causing them both to fly backwards. James looped his arm around his sobbing sister's waist and grabbed Albus's arm as he dashed for the fireplace.

_Don't be in a meeting_, he prayed desperately as he reached once more for the floo powder, choking around his own blood, shouting, "Ministry of Magic, Deputy Head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement's office!"

Ginny Potter absentmindedly filled out a stack of paper on her desk. She'd just about had it with surprises today. She'd woken to the lovely surprise of her husband's foot hurtling out of nowhere, his eyes glowing golden. She'd wandered downstairs afterward to discover- Surprise!- the shower had broken, and- Surprise!- they were out of bread for toast. Even worse of a surprise, the family owl had delivered a note from her mother, requesting her for dinner the following night, and Surprise surprise, when she'd gotten to work she'd had to rush back out again to deal with a case of underage wizardry gone wrong out in Kent, she'd come back from that and hardly had time to catch her breath before her head of department called a surprise progress meeting. When she'd finally reached her office, she found- Surprise!- a letter from Minerva informing her that James had missed three classes yesterday for Merlin knows what reason, but had also, what a pleasant surprise, been accepted onto the Gryffindor team.

Therefore, she was so done with surprises that she barely found it in her to be surprised when all three of her children landed on the carpet in front of her fireplace, dripping blood and dreadfully pale. She stood and crossed the room, shaking her head. James was the only one still standing, and he was shaking so hard she doubted he would be for long. "Sit," she ordered him. "Why aren't you in school?"

"Why aren't you at home?" he shot back.

She ignored his smart mouth, and instead attended to the injuries. Only a simple break in Albus's leg, she could fix that. Lily had two broken ribs, but those were easier than leg bones anyway. She regrew James tooth, he seemed to be knocking those out at an alarming rate now, and healed their various cuts and scratches.

"Well, loves," she said brightly to Lily and Albus, "You've always wanted to come to work with me anyways, you might as well stay here now while I nip home and see how Dad is. James, I'm not even going to ask what you're doing here, but it's wonderful to see you, don't let it happen again. Off to school with you!"

She hustled him back into her fireplace, then disappeared herself, and Albus and Lily were left standing glumly in her office. "Thanks, James," they whispered to an empty fireplace.

Once again, James came whirling out of the fireplace, and this was the least graceful landing of all because someone had been standing in front of it. Said person was picking herself up off the floor, looking extraordinarily irritated. If he hadn't known Professor McGonagall better, he would have thought she was purely annoyed at having been floored by a spinning thirteen year old covered in ash, but she didn't care much about such things. He was far more inclined to be nervous as she towered over him, a fire breathing dragon in her fury, having remembered that he was supposed to be in Herbology- though he was probably due in Defense Against the Dark Arts by now, yep, she was justifiably furious.

"Ah, Mr. Potter, how good of you to join us. Now if you could kindly explain _where you've been for the last fifty-five minutes, what you were doing in the floo, and, oh my, why are you covered in blood!?"_

James shuffled his feet nervously, and Minerva was forcibly reminded of the boy's father. Being annoyed with a Potter was like hexing a baby unicorn; you just couldn't do it for long. Even when it was the most ludicrous, dangerous, ridiculous things, like luring a fellow student into a tunnel with a werewolf, or wandering around the Astronomy tower at midnight with a dragon (she had known about the dragon, but that would have been a whole other host of points to dock and really, she had wanted the house cup…), and now vanishing midway through Herbology and turning up covered in blood…

"Do you have any idea how worried Professor Longbottom was when you didn't show up at the end of Herbology, and he went down to the hospital wing and you _weren't there,_ nor were you in Defense? Do you have any idea how shocked your mother will be if I write her again to tell her you've vanished for another class?"

James uttered a cough that might have been concealing a laugh. He really didn't think his mother would be at all surprised.

"And_ look_ at you; I don't understand _what_ it is with Potters and showing up covered in blood!"

By some miracle, her face softened ever so slightly, and she concluded, "A week of detention for leaving school, and you may report to Madam Pomfrey-"

"I'm alright," James interrupted hastily. He knew he had likely just added to his repertoire of bruises, and he really wasn't keen to have anyone else see them… you could tell from some of them that they weren't formed today. "It's stopped bleeding-"

"In that case, you may go directly to Professor Longbottom and apologize for your behavior!"

James gulped, a week of detentions he could handle, but _that_ wasn't going to be fun at all.


	8. Chapter 8

James squirmed under the professor's gaze. "So what I mean to say is, I'm sorry I missed part of your class, and it shouldn't happen again." _Not bloody likely_. He thought, _this was going to keep happening until Harry did something about it, and he, Al, and Lilly were going to keep paying the price._

Neville shook his head slowly. "Sit, James," he said.

_Merlin._ "I don't know if I should, Professor, I'm late for Potions."

"Bull, James, you're on break." He replied, then he corrected himself. "I mean, I doubt Professor Manchester will mind if you're a few minutes late, even if her class doesn't start for another twenty minutes."

James refused to meet his eyes. _Keep him at arm's length_, he told himself, _that way no one will get hurt._

Neville put a hand to James's shoulder and guided him- or gently shoved him- to a seat in front of his desk. "James, is everything alright? Whatever you've told Professor McGonagall, I don't think that was an act this morning, and if it was, you should be down in London auditioning for the latest remake of 'Wendelin the Weird and Her Troupe of Elves', not dashing out of my classes."

"Everything's fine," James assured him with a horribly fake smile plastered across his lips.

Neville opened his mouth to reply, but the bell to signify end of break rung, and James dashed off with a muttered, "Told you I'd be late," before he could say anything.

Neville couldn't help but notice as he watched him cross the lawns back to the main castle, not only had his robes been splattered with blood, but he was limping, and he'd been limping this morning, before he'd disappeared on any great adventure. Perhaps it was time to have a little talk with Professor McGonagall.

* * *

James winced as he felt brown eyes lock on him. Praying the man would turn away, he fixed his eyes on his anatomically correct sketch of a Cornish pixie and its lifecycle. . He absently inked in the label for its beliophase, then swore mentally as he heard footsteps approach.

The tall figure leaned down to his level. "James?" he asked quietly.

"Yes, Professor O'Keefe?" James whispered back.

"That's carniophase."

Oops. "Thank you, Sir." He muttered.

"Are you feeling alright, James? I know full well you know this, Defense is your best subject."

"I'm fine, sir. Just a simple mistake."

"Are you sure? You seem distracted."

"Perfectly sure. I'll pay more attention, Professor."

"I know you will, James. How are things at home?"

_What the hell? _"I wouldn't know, sir, I haven't been home."

"Of course you haven't. I meant over the summer."

Thank Merlin for small miracles. "They're just fine, sir."

"Your Mum still working at the ministry?" he asked.

"Yes, Professor."

"What department, again?"

"Magical Law Enforcement, sir."

"Good, very good. Does she work late, at all?"

"She's usually home around six thirty."

The Professor turned away.

"Eyes on your own paper, Wood!" he chided another student.

"What was that about?" Aaron asked

"I haven't the foggiest," James replied. "Just being friendly, I suppose."

* * *

James woke in the night, his heart pounding, the image of his brother and sister's lifeless bodies swimming before his eyes. His breath came in rasps, and his mouth felt dry. _Albus. Lily._ Water. He needed water, then he'd get to the mirror. No, they weren't safe. He needed- he wanted-Holding his head, he went to the water jug near the window and poured himself a glass of water, but his hand was shaking and the glass fell.

It shattered as it hit the ground, each piece glittering like fallen diamonds in the light from the bright moon. Adrenaline still pulsing through his body, James bent to pick up the pieces, but his hand slipped and a shard of glass pierced the palm of his hand. Immediately, the panicked feeling left. The feeling of blood rising to the shallow cut soothed him, he could protect them. That was what the blood had always meant… that they were safe, because he was the one being hurt. The warm blood pooled on his palm, and he mopped it without thinking on his robes. He stared in wonder at the sparkling shard, and held it experimentally between his fingers. He held it to his wrist and applied pressure so it cut through his skin just slightly. The feeling intensified. They were safe. He cut himself again, harder this time, and he knew. He knew they were okay. He was protecting them. They were safe. Then, as he watched the dark red liquid stream down his wrist to coat his hand, it occurred to him that he ought to go see Madam Pomfrey.

The elderly witch was not pleased at having been woken… He had to endure the usual mumbles and grumbles of how she ought to retire, but didn't know what Hogwarts would do without her if she left. After splashing some dittany over the wound and mumbling a few spells, all three slashes were little more than a memory.


	9. Chapter 9

"I still don't get why we have to come here," Aaron complained as the two chugged up the hill in Hogsmead Village on the very first weekend, September 16.

"I told you, I just have to get something. You didn't have to come," James informed him.

"Are you kidding? I can't leave you alone for thirty seconds. You'd end up having some grand adventure, and I'd be left in the dark," he replied.

"Yeah, yeah. Wait here, would you? I'll be right back."

Aaron shrugged and sat down on a bench as James yanked open the door to an old shop with a peeling yellow painted exterior, and a dimly lit, moldy smelling interior. A tinny sounding bell sounded somewhere in the shop as he entered, and an overweight wizard with a rather hefty moustache gave a startled twitch from behind a mottled wood counter. He forced a smile at the clerk as he browsed around the shelves, which were sagging wood and full of an odd variety of equipment, from old, worn wands with chipped and cracked wood to muggle alarm clocks with rusty brass bells. Finally, below a shelf of tarnished figurines of all shapes and sizes, most inanimate, and above a rack of tattered wizards' robes of all colors and styles, he found what he had been looking for.

The majority of the shelf was occupied by a selection of seedy looking plants, the nearest to him oozing a sort of pus from a strange group of pods at its leafy center. However, to the right, there was a small cardboard box. He eased it off the shelf and eyed the pocket knives inside it warily. That one too large, it would barely fit in his pocket. That one didn't close, that one looked like it might snap at a moment's notice. That one, however, looked like it might work. It was a little over three inches long, made of dark wood and edged with dented gold. He slipped his thumbnail into the crevice at the edge of the gold blade and eased it out. The blade was nice and sharp, and not at all rusty. The screw attaching it to the base seemed sound as well. It should cut skin very neatly.

He made to go and pay for it, then remembered his excuse for visiting the shop, to find Albus a birthday present. He wheeled around and scanned the shelves warily, eyes finally settling on a bin in the corner filled with different sorts of bags.

Crossing the room, he knelt down beside the bin and dug around until he found a book bag at the bottom he thought his brother would like. It was made of dark leather worn soft, but there were no holes that James could see, and it had firm straps and a polished clasp.

He paid for his things then exited the shop, surreptitiously pocketing the knife as he did so. His pockets were becoming crowded.

"What'd you get?" Aaron asked, craning his neck to see.

"Just a bag. I thought he'd like it, it's really his sort of thing."

He held it out, and Aaron grabbed and examined it as they jogged back down the hill. "Excellent," he said, "It can hold my Honeydukes and Zonko's stuff, I can't carry it all."

The two grinned in amazement as the weight of the bag remained unchanged, despite the rather large load of chocolates, sugar quills, peppermint toads, feinting fancies, puking pastilles, fanged Frisbees, and dung-bombs just added to it. "Al's going to love it," James said happily.

"Butterbeer?" Aaron asked, and James agreed, but they met someone coming out as they entered the Three Broomsticks.

"Potter!" Professor McGonagall exclaimed as she stopped short to avoid hitting them. "I've been looking all over for you!"

James's heart leapt into his throat as he took in the headmistress's pale face and grim expression. "Professor?"

"I'm afraid you're going to have to come with me, James," she informed him, turning for the main road, her jaw set in an unreadable line.

"Professor? Where are we going?" he asked, jogging to keep up with her brisk pace, Aaron just behind him.

"We'll be flooing to Saint Mungo's, Potter, I'm afraid your mother has been attacked."


	10. Chapter 10

Albus stood in the shower, scrubbing gently at his upper leg with a cloth. The blood wasn't stopping, it still poured from the deep cut, dying his knee red until the spurts of hot water from the old, rusty shower washed it away. The entire bathroom, more of a closet with a toilet, sink, and shower, was rusty. They didn't go down here often, but today was an exception. Today they had needed a place to hide while their father rampaged.

Cursing under his breath as he rubbed a little too hard and pain shot through his leg, continuing from the slash down his swollen lower leg. Sprained, he thought. He stuck his head around the moldy shower curtain into the tiny bathroom, glancing around. There wasn't much to see, but he had to be cautious. One steamed up mirror, on set of shelves, one sink with a cabinet beneath it, one sister, sitting on the toilet with the lid down, messily dabbing antiseptic on to her own scraped knees.

"Lily?"

"Yeah?"

"Is there any dittany in the cabinet?"

"That's the brown bottle, right?"

Albus nodded, and she got up, limping awkwardly, slightly bent over with one hand still holding her pajama pant leg bunched above her knee. Albus felt a burst of guilt. He should be able to protect his little sister better than this, he should be more like James. James always knew what to do.

"Thanks," he said as she handed him the bottle. He hid his head back behind the curtain and liberally splashed the clear liquid over his leg, which mercifully scabbed over. His ankle still hurt, but his mother would be able to fix that. His mother would be able to fix everything. He just had to wait untill she came home. He did some quick math, it had been just after two when Dad had started, they had escaped to the bathroom about twenty minutes later, and they had probably been in here just under an hour...

He slipped his hand past the shower curtain and grabbed his clothes from the rack beside it. Still rather wet, he emerged from the shower fully dressed, shaking his head like a dog to clear the worst of the water from his messy black hair. He pulled a box of band aids from the shelf above the sink, carefully applying a large one to Lily's knee. "Did you hear Dad come in?" he asked.

Lilly shook her head, brown eyes wide. Albus felt another pang of guilt. James would have gone after their father as he took off outside, down the block; sprained ankle or no sprained ankle. James would have stopped him to make sure he didn't hurt anyone else. James had, actually. Several times before. He always tried to be like James, but sometimes, trying wasn't good enough. He didn't know how his older brother did it.

The door upstairs banged open, and Albus nearly dropped the bottle. Banging was a bad sign. It meant he was still going crazy. To his surprise, the door closed quietly, and the footsteps trudging up the stairs sounded anything but mad. "Albus? Lily? It's alright."

His father sounded exhausted. "Dad?" he called back.

"Come here." Their father commanded.

"Dad?" Albus asked hesitantly, "Whose blood is that?"

Harry sank heavily to the floor, his head in his hands. His answer was so quiet it was nearly indistinguishable. "I'm afraid it may be your mother's."


	11. Chapter 11

_**Hi! Author's notes aren't usually my thing, but I thought this chapter deserved a dedication, so here goes:**_

_**This Chapter is hereby dedicated to A) My best friend, you know who you are, for reading and loving my stories, B) The Hunter's Moon for being the only one to review last chapter, as well as just about every chapter before that, and C) you! for reading this far in. Let it be known that next chapter will be a long one, and fantastically full of action, as recompense for leaving you hanging for the last few chapters.**_

_**Reviews are motivation for me to update faster!**_

James felt oddly emotionless as he came spinning out of the fireplace. He felt the breath leave him as a short head of raven hair came barreling into him, sobbing. He found no words of comfort, either. Professor McGonagall had told him next to nothing. 'Your mother was attacked on her way home from work. A tall man with his hood up was seen leaving the alleyway she uses to apperate home several minutes before she was found, but no one knows who he was. She is in bad shape, but they believe she will make a full recovery.'

"Professor McGonagall said she'd be okay," he told him numbly. "Have you seen her yet?"

"N-No, James, they won't let me, but-" he dropped his voice significantly, "It was Dad, James."

"W- What?" he had not been expecting that.

"Dad went r-running out of the house, and I c-couldn't chase him, my- my ankle was hurt, and th-then he came b-back, and he was c-covered in blood, and- and then someone-someone f-from the m-ministry came, I-I answered the door- I'd sh-showered, he- he beat us up first, b-but there was n-no more blood, and- and that- that gave- gave him time."

"Shhh,"James said gently, "Tell me later."

He dragged his little brother over to the Welcome Witch's desk. "We're here to see Ginny Potter," he said clearly.

The Welcome Witch was a plump woman with small spectacles that seemed to be about to fall off her nose. The name tag fastened to her green Saint Mungo's robes read MATILDA.

Matilda didn't need to check her records. Everyone knew Ginny Potter was here. "I'm sorry, but I can't let you do that," she simpered.

"And why not?" James asked.

"Mrs. Potter is a high-security patient, sir. We can't let anyone, and that includes minors, in to see her unless they are in the company of someone specifically listed on her card."

"I'm James Potter! I'm her son! You can let me in!" he shouted.

"Calm yourself, sir. The best I can do is request someone to come out at the next convenient time to give you an update on her condit-"

James swore under his breath. Without bothering to thank her, he stormed away. "Sit here, don't move. Where's Dad and Lily?"

"They dropped me here. I don't know." Albus replied shakily.

"They're not even in the hospital!"

Al shook his head.

Still muttering, James crossed the room to the fireplace. "10 Pine Crossing, Godric's Hollow!" he stated, and felt the fire whisk him away.

Ron too had just returned from work, and he stumped into the kitchen to find his wife busily filling a length of parchment in the study in the lower floor of their home. The fire crackled merrily in the indent in the wall of the oak paneled room, opposite of the one her desk was pushed up against. Ron tossed his cloak over the back of the chair pushed up to his own desk on the wall that faced the other way, beneath the window. His desk was much messier than his wife's.

She looked up from her writing. "Long day?" she asked.

"You've no idea. Seven raids and a nasty report to write on a-"

"Daddy?"

Ron turned to face the short boy at the doorway. He had brown eyes, freckles, and curly red hair. "What's up, Hugo?"

"James said to tell Mommy and Daddy to get the heck up here, he needs help. He said get the hell up here first, actually, but then he corrected himself."

"James? James Potter?" Ron asked, eyebrows raised.

"Sure, he swears all the time, but Auntie Ginny and Uncle Harry aren't supposed to know."

"No, where is he?"

"Upstairs in the living room. I think he's crying a little bit, but I didn't hit him, and it wasn't Fred or Albus either, because they aren't there."

Ron turned and ran up the stairs, Hermione just behind him, Hugo bringing up the rear.

James was in full flood tear mode by the time they reached him. He hated it. It made him feel stupid and babyish and weak, and those thoughts only made him cry harder. He slipped his hand into his pocket, where the knife was. He wanted to feel the pain. He fumbled to get it out, but was interrupted.

"James!" his uncle exclaimed, rushing into the room.

"What's wrong? Why aren't you in school?" Aunt Hermione asked articulately, scanning his face for answers.

"Mum's been hurt, and Professor McGonagall sent me, but they won't let me see her, and Albus is there but we don't know where Dad is, and we think he has Lily, but we're not sure." James said quickly, but a tide of panic and guilt had just slammed in to him like a brick wall. He was so stupid. What if they'd come up a minute later to find him making himself bleed?

"Ginny's hurt?" Ron asked, paling.

"I don't know how badly, they won't let me see!"

"Let's go," he replied, and hustled his wife, son, and nephew into the fireplace.


	12. Chapter 12

Nearly an hour of listening to Uncle Ron bully the welcome witch into letting them in, and James couldn't help himself. One look at the bed where his mother lay and he had to run back out again. He didn't know if he would ever stop running. His mother's face swam in perfect detail before his vision, deathly pale, her eyes closed, covered in healing cuts that must have been so deep…. Blood soaked into her hair, making it look almost tie-dye, alternating shades of red. One particularly large and deep slash, curling from her lower eye-lid to her upper lip, just like Uncle Bill, a dark bruise blooming under one eye, but worst of all, she was still.

Completely, perfectly still. If her chest had been rising or falling, he hadn't seen it. Not a muscle had moved, and that was when something in him had exploded, burst into fireworks in his stomach or his chest or his head. He'd jerked backwards, knocked Albus off balance, cracked his head into Uncle Ron's chin. Slammed into the door so that it burst open, rocketed into a nurse levitating a tray of merlin-knows what, ducked the stunned healer just beyond her, and then it was like all his senses had turned off. All he could see was his mother's face. He wanted nothing more than blood. Wanted to slash his arms until he couldn't see her anymore, until all he could feel was pain, and that wonderful, safe, feeling. He ran blindly through the corridors until he'd hit a staircase, tripping and sprawling before scrambling to his feet and charging until OOFF, he crashed into something like a wall and fell on to his back, completely winded.

"James?"

Gold rimmed glasses swam in front of him, and his vision focused and he saw Neville's face.

"Can you hear me, bud?"

"N-Neville?"

He frowned. "If you're going to give yourself a concussion, this is the place for it."

"What are you doing here?"

"What do you think I'm doing? Being crashed in to by wild thirteen year old boys."

"Really, Neville."

"I'm here to see your mother, dingbat."

"Who told you she was here?"

Neville gaped at him, wrong-footed. "I- I mean to say- that is your- Professor McGonagall."

"You don't seem too sure," James accused.

"Of course I'm sure. Now, can you tell me where she is, or do you have some other elderly man to go knock to the floor?" he replied smoothly.

"You knocked me down, actually, you're not elderly, and how'd you get in here? They wouldn't even let me-"

"Full of questions today, aren't you James. Spell damage, is it? Because of the cruciatus?"

"Who said they used the cruciatus curse?" James asked, getting to his feet. Something felt wrong here, very wrong.

Neville was already walking away, and he didn't miss a beat as he replied, "Professor McGonagall. Are you coming?"

James was left with no choice but to scramble after him, his heart thudding.

* * *

_Dear James,_

_Stay with your family tonight, but I'll expect you back in time for classes Monday morning. I do hope your mother recovers soon._

_All the best,_

_Professor McGonagall_

James stared at the note as he sat in his own bedroom, then felt it crumple in his fist. Everything was so complicated; he didn't know whether to be glad or upset, who knew what his father would do tonight?

The knife open on his bedside table gleamed, reflecting light from outside into his darkened bedroom. James took it carefully in his right hand, turning it round a few times, watching the light catch and fade. Suddenly, a panic rose from the pit of his stomach in a solid mass, and his arm jerked as his mother's face, pale and bloody, swan before his vision. Blindly, he pulled the sleeve of his short sleeve t-shirt up high, and with the flash of a blade, he felt warm, sticky liquid begin to pour down his shoulder. The panic distinigrated and shrunk, and for the first time that day, James felt himself smile.

* * *

James slunk late into one of his afternoon classes, earning himself a reproving look from Professor Creevey, War History teacher. The look quickly turned to sympathy, mirrored by the rest of his classmates, as they took in the not quite healed scratch marks down the side of his face, and the puffy bruise under one eye, already turning greenish-brown. Healing charms were wonders, but they weren't everything. He had only just returned to Hogwarts, and he was grateful Professor McGonagall had been more understanding than usual.

Slumping into the empty desk at the back beside Dan, with Aaron on Dan's other side. James fumbled for quill and parchment. This was one of his favorite classes, but it was also among the ones where note-taking was most important. Dennis Creevey was a tall, mousey haired young man with the ability to make the war come to life with his words. He also occasionally used his wand to make pictures flash across the board, and he'd once taken them into the pensieve.

Dan pushed a half empty sheet of parchment covered in notes across to him, with an extra quill. James was not entirely surprised to find a note scrawled at the bottom in Aaron's bold calligraphy, the neater penmanship he only used when he wanted to get a point across.

**_Dude, where have you been?! Is your Mom okay? What'd you do to your face? _**

There was a neater message from Dan at the bottom; he had very neat handwriting regardless.

_Talk to us later, alright? We want to know everything! And really, did you get into a fight? Not like you, James._

**_Later_**, he scrawled back to both of them, and then tuned in to another half an hour of Professor Creevey's vivid descriptions of the battles.

* * *

"James! James!"

James glanced behind him to see who it was, then broke into a run for the Quidditch pitch.

Aaron and Dan, who had been sauntering along beside him with their broomsticks over their shoulders, turned in bewilderment as their friend tore off down the lawn, and took in the struck expression on Professor Longbottom's face.

"James?" he called again half-heartedly, then turned bemused to Aaron and Dan as if they might hold all the answers.

Dan shrugged, and Aaron suggested dully, "Maybe he was late?"

Neville sighed and shook his head. "No, boys, I may have made a bit of a mistake where James is concerned. I was hoping to apologize."

Dan looked unhappily at the dejected looking professor. "He wasn't very happy with you this afternoon," he admitted.

"What do you mean?" Neville asked sharply.

"Dunno," Dan said uncomfortably, "Just in general, I guess. He was talking about skiving off for Herbology, but I think we convinced him he'd missed enough class…"

"He sounded really upset, though, Professor," Aaron piped up. "I don't suppose you could tell us what the deal is, I mean, he won't tell us what's wrong."

"No… No, I don't think that's my place," Neville said, staring after James. "If there's anything else about him that…. Concerns you, I do hope you'll tell me, though."

"Umm… Right. Any special reason why?" Dan asked.

But Neville had turned and walked away.


	13. Chapter 13

"James Potter, get over here."

Cursing himself for not packing up faster, James turned slowly. Aaron and Dan hovered uncertainly by the door, but Neville said, "James will catch up with you in time for lunch, boys."

"Just a minute," James said rudely, "Give me one good reason why I should stay back."

Neville gave him a hard look. "Because I asked you to, James, and like it or not, I am your teacher. Like it or not, I can also give you detention. Now Mr. Skelling, Mr. Apollo, I will see you at dinner if not before. _Good Day_."

Recognizing the rather forced dismissal, the two boys backed out of the greenhouse. James was inclined to wonder wildly if and when he was going to be attacked. Half expecting Neville to draw his wand, the boy was surprised when Neville simply sank wearily into his desk chair, massaging his temples. "James, James, James."

James looked at him expectantly, but the professor said nothing more. "Sir?"

Neville looked at him. "James, I owe you an apology. The way I acted the other day was completely unacceptable, but at that time, I couldn't tell you the truth. I've been trying to ever since, but you've been avoiding me for days. Correct me if I'm wrong, but it was the Headmistress who escorted you to class today, was it not?"

"Can you tell me the truth, whatever that is, before you yell at me, sir?"

"Drop the sirs for the present, James, but yes, I do suppose I owe you that much."

"Well?"

"The truth, James, is that it was your father who told me your mother had been hospitalized. And I can see that you react somewhat strongly to this piece of information. Is there a reason why?"

James, who had twitched slightly, shook his head, but his mind was racing. What exactly had his father told him?

"I'm only asking because your father seemed beyond distress, and while this is entirely understandable, it's not like him. He brought your sister to me and had me watch her, and he seemed afraid for her."

James shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I wouldn't know, sir, I wasn't there."

"But I know you, James. You have an idea, don't you."

"Not really, and look, Professor, I need to get to lunch…"

Neville sighed. "Three detentions, James, I'll let you know when, and I never want to see you skipping class again, no matter how upset you are. Now go to lunch, I think its fried pork and potatoes today, you like that."

James didn't reply, just scampered off. There was still something he didn't trust about him…

Another figure, tall and lean yet short against the backdrop of the ancient school, followed the boy intensely with his eyes. Soon, he thought. Soon.


	14. Chapter 14

_Dear James, September 29, 2016_

_It's getting colder now. We used to be able to run outside, and stay there all day, but now we're stuck in our rooms. It gets a bit scary, with him rocketing around downstairs. I wish we didn't have to be there for it, but it's all right._

_Love,_

_Albus _

Dear James, October 3, 2016

It's Roxie's birthday tomorrow, and Mum says we might not go! We already buyed her presents and everything! And Uncle George and Auntie Angelina are getting her a kitten! It's not fair, James.

Love you.

Love,

Lily. xxx

_Dear James, October 5, 2016_

_I don't know if they can keep this secret much longer! Lily whined so much that they caved and let us go to the party, but Dad started having a thing near the end, but all he was doing was sort of hyporventallating (did I spell that right?) and Mum stuck him in the floo and told everyone he'd forgotten something and had to go back for it. They were a bit suspishious (That doesn't look right either.) by the end when he hadn't come back, but Mum made some excuse. _

_Love,_

_Al_

_P.S._

_Lily wants me to tell you Roxie's new cat is black and grey and white and is adorabal. (I need a spell-check quill! It's not adarabul either, is it? Adorrble?)_

_Dear James, October 11, 2016_

_Who's Professor O'Keefe? Mum was telling Dad how she got a letter from him as she was leaving work the day she was in the axident (aksidant?) and he thought you were having trouble at school and he was such a nice man not to want to worry her about it at work. Dad thinks he remembers him from school, that he was probably with good intentions because he never heard of a Hufflepuff who meant badly before. _

_Miss you._

_Love,_

_Albus._

_Dear James, October 18, 2016_

_THANKS FOR THE BOOKBAG AND THE NEW QUILL! That bag is awesome, it's weightless! And Bottomless! I could probably carry around Aunt Hermione's entire library in that thing and it will still feel as light as a feather! Guess what else? I GOT A NEW BROOM! A NIMBUS 7000! That's almost as good as your Firebolt, so there! I bet I can beat you when you come home for Christmas! You know what else? I'm ELEVEN! I'm GOING TO HOGWARTS NEXT YEAR!_

_Love,_

_Al_

_Dear James, October 23, 2016_

_Today was a fiasco. Dad really is going to kill someone if he keeps this up. Mom was babysitting for the Taylor twins this morning, and oh! Mrs. Taylor's going to have another baby! That's why we were babysitting, she had an appointment at Saint Mungo's, and Emmie and Mark got in such trouble there last time, but anyway, Dad had one of his things and he started running around and banging things, but what do four year olds know? They thought it was a game, and Mum convinced them it was like hide and seek so they had to go hide under your bed while Dad looked for them, but remember how Dad used to do that all the time? Act like a Hippogriff or something and roar and snort and chase them across the street to their house? Mom got hurt pretty bad cause she's still kind of weak, but Harry fixed her up when he came around and Mark and Em never knew a thing. _

_Miss you._

_Love,_

_Al._

Dear James, October 31, 2016

I'm a fairy princess! Mum got Aunt Hermione to charm my wings for me so I can actually fly! I only go a little bit off the ground, but I love it! We're going to get so much candy! Al heard that Mrs. Winkler is giving out these HUGE boxes of fudge flies and Aunt Hermione bought M&M's this year. I like those better than the Skittles she got last year.

Love you.

Love,

Lily xxx

_Dear James, October 31, 2016_

_Happy Halloween! There's a troll behind you! Dad told that story today, like always, but Lily got him to drag out the fight, and he made the teacher fainting extra funny, so it was better than usual. I'm sending a picture tomorrow, Lily wants you to see her in her fairy princess suit. You should see Hugo too, Aunt Hermione charmed him an awesome centaur suit, the back legs move with him when he walks and everything. I know you go to Hogsmead today, so have fun with that! Send me some chocolate frogs, would you?_

_Love, _

_Al._

"I'm going to shower before dinner, alright?" James called over his shoulder as he slipped into the bathroom to the side of the dorm in Gryffindor tower.

Still red cheeked and cold from the walk to and from Hogsmead, Dan and Aaron nodded, pulling off their hats and jackets.

Several minutes later, there was a tapping sound at the window.

Dan looked up, which was a mistake because the tower he'd been steadily building from cards blew up in his face. Aaron looked up from his comics, and let the small owl that had been fluttering by the window fly into the room and perch on the bed in the corner.

"Whose are you?" Dan asked, crossing over to it.

The owl only hooted in reply. Dan detached the letter, but there was no name on the front. Cautiously flipping it open, he read the hastily scrawled first line. _Dear James,_ it read.

He meant to put it down, but something on the next line caught his eye, and he felt his frown deepen as he scanned down the letter, then went back and read it a second time. He might have read it again, but it was snatched from his hands by Aaron.

_Dear James,_

_The mirror's broken, and I need help now! Mum's not returning for hours, she went for a grown up party at Aunt Audrey and Uncle Percy's. Something happened with Dad, and now Lily's bleeding and there's no dittany left. I don't know where Dad went, I'm afraid he might have gone to the party. I'd have gone after him, but he went through the floo, and I've no idea where, I just saw the flames dying down. I don't know what to do!_

_Help, James!_

_Love, _

_Albus _

Aaron looked back up at Dan. "What the hell is this?"


	15. Chapter 15

James, water still dripping from his dark hair, stared at the parchment for so long Aaron wondered if he had forgotten they were there. He watched as James's grip grew tighter and tighter on the letter, so tight that his hand began to shake and the paper crumpled in his grip. Finally, he shoved it in his pocket, muttered "Thanks," and ran out the dormitory door.

Aaron turned to Dan. "He doesn't think he's getting away without at least a little bit of a reasonable explanation, does he?"

Dan could only shrug.

James could feel a scream building in his lungs as he tore down the passageway. Where to go first? The party at Uncle Percy's? His house to check on Lily and Albus? How was he going to reach either place? Would any of the teachers be at dinner yet? He can't help himself. Digging in his pocket for his knife, he slipped it open and allowed the blade to pierce his index finger. Suddenly, he could think clearly, and he knew just what to do.

One dungbomb and one irate Professor Flitwick rushing from his office toward the disturbance later, James found himself sprinkling thick, gritty white powder into the stone cold fireplace. A moment later, flames sprang up, and James plunged in to them with a muffled cry of "Eleven Fourteen, Rosewood Lane, Montgomery, Britain!" and he was spinning, spinning, gone.

James found himself in an empty room. The walls were long, blank expanses of white, adorned here and there with formal looking portraits of Uncle Percy, Aunt Audrey, Molly, and Lucy. Matching Smoky Grey, plush, thickly cushioned couches and chairs formed a neat shape around a large stone fireplace, and the room was complete with dark wood, marble topped end tables and an expansive chandelier, relatively plain save for the occasional glistening diamond.

It was the stiff, formal room of a ministry employee, and it was used to stiffly sitting adults sipping alcoholic beverages and making irrelevant conversation, or young girls in dainty, sock covered feet tripping through it, not dirty-shoed thirteen year olds coated in soot barreling through to the door to the dining hall before remembering that it would be a better idea to check whether his Dad was in attendance before he barged in, scaring the adults and earning himself a month's worth of detentions once some fuming adult shoved him back through the floo to the headmistress's office.

James eased a crack between the door and its frame, peering into the room before him.

Perhaps grander than the sitting room, the dining hall was designed for formal use; the family rarely used it unless to entertain family or ministry guests. It was for this reason that Uncle Percy was chosen so often to host the formal dinner parties when foreign heads of department came to visit. He conjured and vanished his specialty chairs as necessary; high and straightly backed and ornately carved dark wooden spectacles with comfortable, deep scarlet seats. These were placed around a hard wooden table imported directly from India, though it was hardly noticeable beneath the lavish, crème colored table cloth. Yet none of this interested James. He was far more interested in those seated in the chairs. None looked worried or distressed; on the contrary, they were talking and joking animatedly as they picked at carefully prepared food. No, his father was not here, and had probably never been. His next step: Exiting unnoticed.

James crept back through the sitting room, this time looking before he leapt. He pulled the Marauder's Map from his robe pocket, tapped it lightly, and whispered, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

He scanned the map for an empty office, squinting at the intricate lines and minute labels. One vacated room with a fireplace should not have been hard to find, for the majority of the map was deserted, as everyone, student or teacher, caretaker or ghost, was at the feast. However, before he could settle on one, his attention was caught by a single blot of ink, running down the secret passage at the lower right segment of the page showing the grounds. It was the passage that lead from the Shrieking Shack in Hogsmeade to beneath the Whomping Willow, and the dot was running erratically, moving quickly as he bounced off walls and stumbled. It was almost as if the person depicted had little control over his own body. The dot was labeled _Harry Potter_.


	16. Chapter 16

If anyone later asked James how he got to the Whomping Willow that day, he would have had to tell them he had no idea whatsoever. It can't have been that difficult, though, because he found himself frantically searching the cold, damp grass around the base of the ancient, gnarled tree for the strongest branch he could find before giving his wand a detirmined swish, sending it to give a hard poke to the knot at the tree's roots mere minutes after his frantic yet thankfully unnoticed exit from the party.

Now, however, he was sprinting down the tight, narrow passage, air catching in his lungs and making it difficult to breathe. A stitch was already forming at his side, yet he ignored it. Putting one last burst of speed into his stride, he launched himself forward… right into his father.

Harry Potter gave an inhuman roar as he launched his son away from him. James felt himself go flying, felt his feet hit the ground at a strange angle, sending him tumbling head over heels until his head hit the wall of the tunnel with a sickening thud.

He blinked his eyes, watching for a second as the blurred lines of the low, root covered ceiling grew clearer, until suddenly his vision was obstructed completely. He could make out the indistinct lines of his father's face; the flash of gold as his eyes leered down at him, could feel his hot breath on his face. Harry suddenly reared away, and the next thing James knew there was the swish of flying limb, and he felt the hard materiel of his father's shoe collide painfully with his chest.

James felt the breath leave him, and as he lay desperately trying to bring air back into his chest, waiting for another blow, James wondered, not for the first time, if he was going to die. This wasn't the way he would not to. It would destroy his father, the side of his father that loved him, anyway. And he had so much left to do. Who would protect Lily? Algus would, he supposed. But then who would protect Albus?

The shoe heel came crashing down on his already throbbing skull, the toe coming to land on his face, and James screamed in pain. The next sound he heard was alien to him, and he wondered if he could really be hearing it or not, because it was the most awful sound he had ever heard. Harsh and barking and abnormally high-pitched, it rang in his ears, filling them, filling his head until he was trying to squirm away.

And as his father grabbed him by the back of his shirt; cutting oxygen flow off completely before hurling him down the tunnel where he landed with a crunch, scraping off a good bit of skin, and as pain rose like a tidal wave throughout his entire body, he almost wished he could die. Because the last sound James Sirius Potter heard as darkness closed in was the horrible, dreadful sound of his father's distorted laughter, ringing in his ears.

* * *

Half way through his pumpkin and liquor- laced treacle tart, an urgent thought struck Professor Neville Longbottom. His head jerked up and he scanned the length of Gryffindor table.

Carter DiAngelo was hanging a spoon on his nose, much to the amusement of the giggling girls around him. Mary Catherine Watts had no less than sixteen servings of boysenberry ice cream heaped on her plate, and Carmen Holoise beside her looked ready to be sick. But not even second year Jeffrey Doyle, the little rascal, and his attempts to charm the back of Judith Hostler's cloak, attempts that looked about to set the hall on fire, were what he was looking for. No, it took him several checks to be sure of it, but now he knew. A lump rose in his throat as he looked at Aaron Skelling and Danny Apollo sitting beside each other. To Aaron's left sat Abby Kellheller, to Dan's right sat Liam Retter. No where to be seen was James Potter, and for James to miss a feast was very, very unusual.

Now if Neville could only have noticed the other professor doing the same scan up and down Gryffindor table. And while Neville stuck his fork back into his tart with a preoccupied frown gracing his round face, the other teacher's reaction was far more disturbing. The professor laid down his spoon, leaned back in his chair, and smiled as he observed the hole where James should have been sitting. And perhaps it was only because he was listening for it, but the professor could have been certain that, far across the grounds, he heard a muffled, distant scream of pain and terror.


	17. Chapter 17

James woke to an unbelievable amount of pain. It took him ages to work up the strength to roll over on to his side and open his eyes.

He found himself still on the floor of the tunnel to the shrieking shack, with his father leaning against the wall beside him with his head in his hands.

As soon as James moved, Harry's head shot up, and his voice came out a strangled whisper. "Oh, James… Thank Merlin, I was so worried…"

James tried to sit up, but couldn't manage it. He fell back on to the hard stone floor with a slight thud that shot pain through his body, and a moan escaped his lips.

Harry grimaced, and said in the same hoarse whisper, "Come on, we have to get you to the hospital wing."

James shook his head, then recoiled as pain shot up and down his spine. "N-No one can see you," he breathed. He was not surprised to find his lips caked with blood as he ran his tongue cautiously across their edges.

"I'll at least get you to the end of the tunnel. Go to the greenhouses, Neville will help you. Say… Try saying you don't remember what happened or something, anything…"

"MmHm" James mumbled in assent, every word was a struggle, and he was putting all his energy into getting up off the ground.

Harry helped him cautiously to his feet. James winced, looking down at his bloodstained clothes. There was something wrong with his right arm… he couldn't quite move it. James put the other hand to a particularly painful spot on the back of his head, and it came away red and sticky. He found he couldn't quite put one foot in front of the other, his vision swam when he tried and he almost fell to the ground again.

"It's alright," Harry murmured, and James leaned on his arm as the two moved slowly up the mud and stone passage.

Harry held the not open as James crawled through, then watched him stagger away.

Overtaken by a wave of dizziness himself, Harry sank to the floor of the passage, which now had a slight, slimy coating of blood. His head hurt so badly, he welcomed the darkness as it closed in around him, and he slumped completely to the ground.

Neville was concerned. The flutterby bush was barely moving, and it had been a week. Consulting an open text book carefully, he scooped up the stiff green plant and shifted it closer to the door where it might get more light.

He stepped back and examined it. Should he water it again? He didn't want to give it too much. Maybe if he changed the type of fertilizer? At the sound of a loud moan, he looked up, startled. The Venomous Tantacula? It was prone to odd noises, but that was a new one. Then a flash of red just beyond the newly positioned flutterby bush caught his eye. Moving close enough to peer around the rather large plant through the doorway, Neville's mouth opened in shock.

James Potter, head dripping blood, staggered in through the door.

One of his pant legs was torn and seeping blood. His arm dangled at an odd angle, and his robes were covered in mud and blood. His face was streaked with red, and his lips were caked with it. A fresh trickle, mixed with saliva, trickled down the corner of his mouth. His eyes seemed unfocused, his breathing staggered.

James took a faltering step forward, then seemed to sway back. He cast the Herbology teacher a despairing look. "Help me," he breathed, before plunging to the floor.

James tried to sit up, but found moving impossible he couldn't even seem to open his eyes. He thrashed desperately, but he appeared to be tied down to something. It was then that he heard the voices. They were nearby, it seemed, maybe just across the room.

"-tie him to the hospital bed? Really, Poppy?" the voice of Professor McGonagall seemed to be saying.

"It's what you would have done, had you seen how he was thrashing around and moaning. He'd have been lucky to stay on the bed, let alone heal properly." Madame Pomfrey snapped back.

"Calm down, I was just wondering," she replied hastily. "Now, Neville, what happened? And incidentally, if you ever show up in my office covered in blood and drag me down to the hospital wing without a word again, if I am still alive, you're off pay for a week. The heart attack you nearly gave me, I swear…"

"There's not much to tell, Minerva. I was dealing with the flutterby bush, you know it's been failing. A thought occurred to me the other day, incidentally, that-"

"About James."

"Right. I heard moaning outside, I went to investigate, James staggered out in front of me and collapsed. You think you had a heart attack… Anyway, I checked he was still breathing, and his pulse, then scooped him up and dragged him up here. Which wasn't easy, either, he's not six anymore, where I could just- Poppy? You bursting to say something?"

"He was talking in his sleep and, well, this is a little bit of a long shot, but how well do you know Harry Potter?"

"Quite well…" Neville said, raising an eyebrow. "Slept in a dormitory with him for the better part of six years, was one of the last people he spoke to before he died, and have been round his for dinner a good half dozen times a month ever since…"

She squinted slightly. "Do you trust him?"

Neville nodded, looking perfectly confused. "With my life."

It was a moment before Madame Pomfrey answered, and when she did, it was with a finger pointed directly at James. "What about with his?"


	18. Chapter 18

It was with a nervous glance in James's direction and much urging from the other professors that Madam Pomfrey continued, bending her head low and whispering, "He's got scars, all over his body. Most of them are fading, but they look recent. Some look to be from cuts that weren't healed properly, or at all."

When she saw the others were looking at her in dubious confusion, she continued urgently, "He was talking in his sleep as well. Calling for his little brother. It was indistinct, but I'm quite certain I caught the one bit of it, 'no, Mum, don't let him hurt them.' Mean anything to you?"

They were beginning to catch on to her train of thought. "No way, Poppy, No. Harry would never hurt his children, not in a million years." Neville said firmly, with an uncomfortable glance in James's direction.

Madam Pomfrey's eyes flared, and she hissed as she lay down her trump card. "Does 'No, Dad, Don't!' tagged on to the rest of it make it any more plausible?"

"Poppy!" Professor McGonagall's voice tacked on urgently. "You have every right to be concerned, but children have nightmares all the time. I'll admit to a particularly nasty one I had as a child in which my elder brother was dissecting my house elf-"

The other two stared at her in open-mouthed disbelief. "Uhhh… Point taken," Neville said.

Poppy Pomfrey turned, giving her wand an irritated flick at James's bed. It released the bonds holding him as she stormed off towards her office. "I'd still keep an eye on him, both of you!" she warned. "Before something happens that we can't explain away, or take back."

* * *

As soon as he was alone, James shot up, though he regretted it instantly as his head began to spin. He looked down, scanning himself quickly. One of his legs was bandaged, but he could walk on it.

Slipping out of the office, he limped down the corridor as fast as he possibly could. He had to check on them, he had to make sure they were alright.

One whirling spin in the floo that wreaked havoc on his injuries later, James found himself on his knees in front of his family fireplace gasping for breath, his face pale. He knew before he opened his eyes that something was wrong. He'd landed in a puddle, and the cold, sticky liquid was soaking through his jeans.

* * *

Madam Pomfrey wandered out of her office to do the final check-up before bedtime, yawning. It had been a long day. She had only four patients at present, the Hufflepuff fourth year who had had a nasty tumble from his broom, the first year Slytherin boy who had been throwing up all afternoon, the Gryffindor sixth year girl hit with an errant jinx during defense against the dark arts and refusing to go back to classes until Madam Pomfrey found a countercharm for her antlers…. Wait….Where was James Potter?

* * *

Forcing his eyes open, he stared at his legs, and at the dark red pool of blood surrounding them.

He looked up, into his brother's face and his framed, emerald eyes. It was scratched and bloody, and marked heavily with tearstains. But it was the expression on his brother's face that made his stomach flip, and his heart start throbbing against his face. The letter. -_Something happened with Dad, and now Lily's bleeding and there's no dittany left-_

"Where is she?" James asked, his voice breathless.

By way of response, Albus turned, staring at the opposite corner of the room. He could just make out a form, huddled against the wall, with red hair splayed out around the top and crimson pools around her. She wasn't moving.

He ripped his eyes away, staring back at his brother. Albus looked so small, so innocent, so scared. Eyes wet with tears behind his glasses, he whispered, "I thought you'd always come."


	19. Chapter 19

Hoping she was alone, Ginny Potter sighed, running a hand through her loose, deep red hair. She hadn't wanted to come to the party in the first place, and she was regretting it more now. She had no idea what could be going on at home, and every day was just so draining, physically and emotionally exhausting…

They knew something was wrong, she could tell. Concerned glances from her brothers, a quick squeeze on the shoulder from Angelina, hugs lingering more than they ought to have from Hermione and her Mum. She could only pray that that was all they knew. Perhaps she was paranoid, but she thought a few too many of them had asked where Harry was.

Head in her hands, she didn't look up when the couch behind her sank down slightly as another person slipped down beside her. She knew it was Hermione.

Sure enough, a moment later, her voice said hesitantly, "Ginny? Are you alright?"

Wincing inwardly, she leaned back into the heavy materiel of the couch and said after a moment, "I'm fine, just tired."

Hermione was nothing short of stunning tonight. Everyone knew that a party at Percy's was not a dress-down occasion. Her hair was pulled back with a clip then fell back loose, spilling over her scarlet dress robes and emerald cloak, both trimmed with gold.

Ginny had relaxed that rule slightly. Really, she just didn't care anymore. Grey slacks, white shirt, the necklace Harry had given her after their wedding, the one with the silver phoenix which she hadn't taken off since.

"Are you sure?"

Ginny nodded, raising her eyes to meet Hermione's. They were a lighter brown than hers. Close to hazel, but darker than James's… she looked away.

"Really, Ginny? We were talking at the Burrow the other day- ,"

Ginny kept her voice controlled, despite the anger that had flared in her chest. It had been doing that a lot lately. "Who's we?"

"Angelina, your Mum, Fleur had a thing or two to say, but she kept out of it for the most part," Hermione replied evenly. "The thing is, Ginny, they reckon you've not been the same since the accident."

Ginny said nothing, but her hand automatically jumped to trace the pale, thin scar still apparent on herface. They said it would go away, with time. Finally, under her sister-in-law's intense frown, she mumbled, "I'm healing…"

"On the outside," Hermione said softly.

Ginny was silent, staring straight ahead.

"I don't agree with them, anyway," Hermione continued, her voice climbing a bit.

Ginny looked up, startled. Surely Hermione… "You don't?"

"No," she said, and her hand slipped on to Ginny's shoulder. "I think there'd been something wrong long before that."

Ginny felt tears sting her eyes, and looked quickly away.

"I think you've been losing weight, since James went to Hogwarts. I think you've not been eating properly," Hermione whispered, gently rubbing Ginny's shoulder. "And I don't think you've been sleeping well, either. I think you've been working too hard. I think it's getting worrisome, how closely you watch Albus and Lily. I think you're afraid for them."

Damn her. Stupid, brilliant, over observant- There were tears running down Ginny's cheeks now, and her shoulders had begun to shake.

"And I think," Hermione said softly, pulling her into a gentle hug so that Ginny was left sobbing into her shoulder, tears soaking into her robes, "you'd find it so much easier if you told someone."

The tension of the last few months rolled out of her through tears, her shoulders heaving as Hermione rubbed soft circles on her back, whispering, "Don't keep it bottled up, Ginny, you're forgetting who we are. We're your family, we're here for you. Whatever it is, let us help you."

"I can't," she choked, tensing, nearly pulling away.

Hermione pulled her closer, whispering into her hair, "It's alright. You-,"

But she never finished what she was going to say. At that moment, she froze, staring at something over Ginny's shoulder.

And she heard her eldest son's voice, in a terrified panic, "What's wrong with her? How'd she find out? She can't have found out!"

And Hermione replying, as she pulled herself free of her arms, "What do you mean, James? Why are you all bloody?"

And James, all five foot two of him, staring at her, pale white and shaking, clutching the edge of the couch to keep from collapsing, and with tears running down his own face, gasped out, "We need help, now, Lily- I think-,"

And Hermione jumped up, steering him down to the couch to keep him from falling as his legs buckled and he cried, "Mum, I think she's dead!"


	20. Chapter 20

The healer's cautious, official sounding words rang through James's ears once more as his feet pounded the corridor, each footfall propelling him forward with a burst of speed and power, yet he couldn't outrun his thoughts. _"Coma… may wake up….. make no promises." Lily._

His breath was coming in searing gasps, his heart pounding a tattoo into his chest. Albus. _'I thought you'd always come.' _

He threw himself at the door marked Men, and it swung open, nearly landing him on his knees, but he caught himself. He was still covered in blood. Lily's blood. Her body, lumped in the corner, covered in blood. Her beautiful, long, vivid hair, contrasting with the green flame as they carried her into the floo on a stretcher. Her face, young, pale, so ghostly pale, framed by the torrent of red against the pillow in the hospital, so still. _'Make no promises'_

The knife was out of his pocket, in his hand, flicked open. He could feel it there, could see the metal glinting in the florescent light of the bathroom, but it wasn't real. Nothing was real. _He wasn't real._

There was no control, this time. He plunged the knife into his skin, pulled it out, thrust it back in again. The pain was sharp, _it _was real. If he could feel pain like this, did it mean he was real?

A fresh wave of the scent of blood hit his nose, strange and intoxicating, but so familiar it was comforting. Slash. More blood, streaming down his wrists. Slash. Lily, looked so much like his mother. So much like his mother in the hospital bed, hair framing her face. Slash. She was dying. Slash Slash Slash. They were all dying. Slash. A wave of dizziness struck him, he was on his knees, he could feel blood soaking through to his skin, but he couldn't remember kneeling. Slash. More blood. He was dying. He'd be with the rest of them. The blood blossomed around him, blooming, red and pretty, glistening on the hard white floor. It would be a pretty death…

Lily. Pretty. Beautiful. So pale, so bloody. There were footsteps behind them, but he barely registered. He didn't realize how hard he'd been panting, gasping even, until the knife was ripped from his hands. A flash of turquoise. Darkness.

Teddy Lupin bent down deeply over his little 'brother', knife palmed in his hand. It took a moment for the seventeen year old to shake himself into action.

He could feel the color seeping out of his hair as he muttered the spell, kneeling over him. _Vulnera Sanentur._The bleeding spell always took all the energy out of him. He'd used it only three times before, all in the last three years. In the corridor when Arcturo Flint-Ryan hexed his best mate, Riley Gordon, with Sectumsempera after potions one afternoon, on the pitch when Fidelio Micheals fell off his broom… straight into the whomping willow and his arm was hanging by tendons by the time it let him fall, and the one time Riley had been joking around with a suit of armor's chained ball and it had hit a second year square in the back…. _Vulnera Sanentur._It was going even slower now. He had always considered himself lucky he hadn't had to use it again on Professor McGonagall when Riley finished his string of detentions…. _Vulnera Sanentur._Bleeding stopped. The wounds were beginning to close. He had almost had to be carried back to the dorms after the willow incident, Professor McGonagall patting him on the back the whole way and mumbling about awards for special services to the school. None of the times had hurt like this. What was had James been doing? No, he knew what James had been doing. But why? This was going to destroy his parents. _Vulnera Sanentur._There. That should do it. They were scabbing over.

He collapsed against the blood splattered wall, tile cold against his back holding James in his arms, his breath coming in short gasps. He slid a few fingers to James's neck, checking for a pulse. It wasn't very strong, but it was there. He realized how tense his arms were, and let them relax. He'd be alright. Teddy too slipped out of consciousness, or maybe it was just a deep sleep.

When Teddy woke, it took him a moment to remember why he was lying on a cold tile floor. It took him another moment to register that the wall he was leaning on felt unusually soft, as though a cushioning charm had been performed on it. When he opened his eyes and looked around, James was gone. Panic swelled in his chest for a moment, until he registered the lack of blood. Someone had cleaned it up, except for one patch just beside where he had been lying. The blood was congealed and half dried, and someone, and Teddy had a very good idea who, had traced _Thank You_ into it. No sooner had he read the words did they siphon themselves away, disappearing outwards from the letters along with the blood still soaking Teddy's clothes. He was left standing in a spotless bathroom, traces of adrenaline still coursing through his veins.


	21. Chapter 21

James was quite possibly more surprised than anyone else when the following morning found him sitting in the great hall, ducking Neville's gaze and skirting looks from any of the students who knew his sister was in Saint Mungo's. Professor McGonagall had told him to stay with his family. His family wanted him there. He knew he would be able to make up any class work that he missed, and he was well aware that yesterday- had it only been yesterday?- he had lost enough blood between what the attack under the willow and the incident in the bathroom that he probably should have been in the hospital himself. Even Teddy was still at Saint Mungo's.

And if he were to be honest with himself, that was why he was here. He had no desire at all to be anywhere near Teddy. He couldn't face it.

Avoiding him really did seem to be the best path to take. Teddy wouldn't tell. He would want to deal with it himself. Teddy knew James wouldn't kill himself or anything, didn't he? And as long as Teddy never got a chance to talk to him, he would be fine. Fine.

To their credit, Aaron and Dan hadn't said a single word about anything. Not the letter, not how James knew what was going on, not Lily, not anything. From the look on Professor Longbottom's face as he stared down at the trio, he had had something to do with that.

He had left the bathroom, cleaned himself up, then borrowed a hospital owl to write him. _Come get me, please, _he'd written, and just like that, Neville had come and gotten him. He found it a bit frightening, actually, how easy that had been.

And when he was unnerved by something, he often found it hard to eat.

Which was why, at the present moment, he was silently pushing scrambled eggs and sausage around his plate without even attempting to swallow it. He just wasn't hungry.

No one noticed when he got up for War History five minutes later with a wave of his wand to vanish his full plate.

Professor Creevey was standing at the front of the class when he arrived. Behind him was the chalkboard, on which was written in fairly large letters, TODAY- LEGEND OF THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS. DISCERNING FACT/FICTION

Once the eleven Gryffindors and ten Slytherins were seated, Dennis Creevey gave the class a smile. "Now, I start by asking you," he said, "Who here can tell me anything about the chamber of secrets?"

James kept his hand down. It felt like cheating, to know the answer to this question.

A Gryffindor called Georgia Clement raised a hand, followed by several others. "Miss Clement?" Professor Creevey said.

"Wasn't it created by Salzar Slytherin?" she asked.

"Correct, two points to Gryffindor. Mr. Clien?"

Eric Clien put his hand down. "It was opened twice, fifty years apart. A monster used to live in it."

"Two more points. Does anyone know how one would go about opening it? Mr. Cole?"

"You need to talk snake."

"Two points to Slytherin. They call it Parseltounge. Now, what was the monster? Mr. Potter, are you with us?"

"Yes, Sir. The monster was a baslisk, a snake of enormous proportions and in possession of multiple deadly properties."

"Nice complete answer, 5 points. Now, the first time it was opened, can anyone tell me about it? Mr. Finch-Fletchley?"

"My Dad told me about it, it was opened by Lord Voldemort when he was a student, and a girl died."

"Correct. Now, the second time."

Professor Creevey reached into his briefcase by his desk and withdrew an envelope, which was revealed to hold several copies of different photographs.

He began to pace around the classroom, setting a few photos on each group of desks as he did so. James glanced at the top picture on the pile on his desk. It showed a wall, written on in what looked like blood.

"Now, before I ask any more questions, let me tell you about these pictures. These pictures were taken by my older brother. My older brother is sixteen. He has been sixteen for the last nineteen years, but he took these pictures when he was eleven. He was in his first year when the pictures were taken. Now, who would like to read the message on the first picture?

Gloria Thompson's hand went up. "The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the heir beware."

"Now," he said, his face rigidly intense, "Who can tell me what that means?"

When no one else raised their hands, James raised his. "It's telling people who are enemies of the last remaining descendant of Salazar Slytherin that they should be afraid."

"That was a loose translation of the actual message, Potter, give me something more. Who are the enemies of the heir of Slytherin?"

James winced. "Muggle-Borns."

"So why should they be afraid?"

"Because the heir of Slytherin had returned to release a deadly monster among the students in order to purify the blood line of his school."

Professor Creevey nodded. "Ten points, Mr. Potter, good job. Now, how did he go about that? Look at the third picture."

As James stepped out of class half an hour later, it was with the strange inclination to want to hug Professor Creevey. For a whole forty five minutes, he had managed to forget everything.


	22. Chapter 22

James couldn't face Herbology, three subjects later. It was a reminder of something he needed to forget. It was a reminder that it was all his fault.

He had messed up. He should have let his father go and gone home. Who knew what difference the extra time might have made? He spent the free period in his room, carving tiny notches into his ankles with his knife. Tiny, but deep.

He probably should have gone down to lunch. After all, he hadn't eaten at breakfast. But he didn't. He couldn't deal with the people, pressing in, crowding him. Talking to him, expecting him to answer. Professor Longbottom, staring down at him, waiting to pounce. Professor McGonagall, who surely would have been informed by now, staring at him.

He stayed in his dorm.

He probably should have gone down to dinner. But he felt guilty now, for having skipped Herbology. Neville would take it personally, and none of it was his fault. He didn't deserve it. James couldn't deal with it right now, having hurt him. He buried himself in his bed with a book, something he didn't do often. But now, it made it easier.

And besides, the hungry feeling in his stomach felt comfortable. It felt like he was paying for what he'd done to Neville, to Albus, to Lily. Especially to Lily. Yet it also felt like he was fighting back. Fighting to help them. Fighting to save his sister.

He was at breakfast the next morning, but eating felt all wrong. It felt like he was betraying them, bringing sausage and toast to his lips. He stopped after only a few bites, vanishing the rest when no one was looking. He downed a glass of pumpkin juice instead.

The remote pangs of hunger startling his stomach through his first few classes felt like a prize, but after a while, he hardly noticed them. Stupid body. Didn't it realize how much the pain helped, how much it cleared his head? He went to Herbology, but spent lunch locked in the bathroom on the fourth floor, carving patterns into his arm. The pain helped him live through the day.

He missed dinner that night as well.

He didn't even pretend to eat at breakfast the next morning, which earned him a strange look from Aaron. The Pumpkin juice in front of him tasted sickly sweet and pulpy, heavy on his tongue and thick going down his throat. He opted for water instead.

He tried to sneak into the library for lunch, but Dan caught him and dragged him back. It was a good thing tomato soup was easy to vanish from under the table. The oyster crackers he shoved down his throat whenever Aaron looked his way weighed on him the rest of the day, making him feel sick and sluggish. That was the last time he attended a meal for three days.

"James!" Neville called.

James kept walking.

"James?"

He ignored him.

"James Potter," Neville snapped, jogging to reach him.

James resisted the urge to continue for the Quidditch pitch at a dead sprint.

"James, where were you for Herbology today?" Neville asked, slowing to a fast walk as he reached him.

James stared at him. "In my seat?" he said.

"Your body was, but where were you? You didn't touch the shrub you were supposed to be pruning, or did you not notice there was one in front of you?"

James glared. "You yell at me when I'm not in class, you yell at me when I am in class, I can't win!" he shouted.

Neville looked slightly taken aback, and James immediately felt guilty. He opened his mouth again, but Neville beat him to it, his face softened slightly. "Look, James, I know having your family in and out of the hospital is hard for you. I thought we'd seen the end of that when your dad quit the auror office. But you still need to be in class, and you have to be paying attention. Your grade in my class is slipping."

James just shrugged. His head was throbbing, and his legs felt like jelly. He wanted more than anything to get to practice so it could be over and he could go to bed. He had astronomy tonight.

Neville ran a tired hand through his greying hair, frowning. "James, would it be easier for you if I had a substitute take your classes for me for a few days?"

James shook his head violently. "No! I'll be fine, I'll pay attention." The world seemed to fog at the edges for a moment, and James felt himself sway.

When his eyes focused again, Neville was looking at him strangely. "Are you alright, James?"

James nodded. "Yeah, fine," he said, but his voice sounded funny, even to him. "Can I go now, Professor?"

Neville's brow furrowed. "Are you sure you should be flying, James? Your color looks a little off."

"'M alright," he muttered, but Neville was shaking his head.

"Go get some rest, James. I'll go tell Teddy you won't be there."

James just shrugged. Anything to avoid Teddy, and get some extra sleep.

His stomach gave a low, desperate grumble of hunger as he turned back to the castle, and it reassured him. He deserved this. For Lily.

He wasn't at dinner that night.


	23. Chapter 23

"You coming, James?" Aaron asked uncertainly, halfway out the door on his way to breakfast a few days later.

James shook his head from his perch on his bed, barely looking up from the large book in front of him. "Nah, I completely forgot about this. If I don't have it done for class, Beekman's gonna murder me then use my skull for bludger practice."

Aaron snorted, but Dan looked unconvinced. "Didn't you miss dinner last night too?"

James remained with his back to them. "I got something from the kitchens," he lied. "I'll see you in Transfiguration, all though it may be the last time. Remember me as I was, not as I shall be."

James could practically hear his hesitation, then his shrug as his two best friends who he'd barely spoken to in days turned and walked away. He waited until their footsteps had faded completely before closing the book and scrambling to his feet.

He'd worked out a system yesterday. Running. Ten laps across the Quidditch pitch because it felt good. Ten for Albus, because he'd let him down. Ten for Neville, because he'd hurt his feelings. Ten for his father, because no matter what he did, it wasn't enough. Ten laps for himself, because he was stupid and couldn't do anything right. His grades at the moment were enough to prove that. And thirty for Lily. Because it was all his fault. She might die. She might sleep forever. She might have irreversible brain damage. And it was all his fault.

Eighty laps. Forty each way. Each length was about seventy five yards. He had two hours before classes started. He figured he'd better start running.

* * *

Professor McGonagall gave a tired sigh as she fixed her gaze on the slight figure in the chair before her, who had been determinedly not looking at her for five minutes straight now, then down at the even grimmer sight of the papers spread on her desk. Kingsley Shacklebolt was right, she reflected dully. She should have retired ten years ago.

"James," she pressed on, "This little mark here is your charms grade. You are getting a P. You are getting an A in potions, a D in Herbology, P in Defense, D in Astronomy, P in Care of Magical Creatures, P in War History, and T in History of Magic and Transfiguration. How are you getting a T in Transfiguration? You got Outstandings in your previous examinations!"

James shrugged, his gaze not lifting from the window.

Professor McGonagall hung her head in exasperation. He's excited, she told herself. After all, you called him up here in the first place to tell him his sister had woken up, his sister is going to be alright.

But she couldn't bring herself to believe it. The thirteen year old in front of her looked anything but excited.

He looked tired, that much was certain. She had seen dark circles like that under the eyes of seventh years the week before N.E.W.T.s, but this was a bit much.

He looked ill. She couldn't quite understand it. The bones of his face seemed more prominent than they had weeks previously, and his robes hung loosely. His skin had lost a good bit of color, making the brown of his freckles loom and his eyes seem dark. She thought he might have been dehydrated as well. His lips were dry. His eyes seemed a bit sunken, and he was shivering.

He looked haunted. Things glittered in his dark eyes that hadn't been there before. His expressions were dark and forlorn, his mouth a thin, grim line.

Grief could really change a person. She had lived a long time. She could understand that as well as anyone. But something in James's face seemed beyond that.

She stood, placing a hand on James's shoulder. She worried when he flinched, and squeezed it a bit tighter. She could feel bone, hard and sharp, beneath his robe and cloak.

"Go, James, and enjoy your Christmas break, but be prepared to work hard when you get back.

James stood, silent and still, then tuned on his heel and left. Minerva McGonagall sank back into her desk. Potters.

* * *

James never could have brought himself to tell her why he couldn't keep his grades up, why he couldn't pay attention in class. The thought of Christmas break was scaring him half to death. From the few letters Albus had written, to be at home was to be in hell. Mum spent most of her time either at the hospital or trying to catch up on work. Dad had seemed much worse since the attack, spending more time with golden eyes than with green. Albus was alone most of the time. Alone and scared. That was the only reason James had signed up to go home for Christmas.

They would have to go to the Burrow for Christmas Eve and Day. There would be no skirting around Teddy there, not to mention Grandma Molly and the others. There would be no way to hide Dad. Lily would be coming home that day, Professor McGonagall had told him. Neville would be there, which would be miserable. The night before he was going home, the bathroom in Gryffindor Tower was awash with blood.

It only occurred to James afterward that he might have been better off not doing that. Teddy was sure to corner him and check. Then again, he wasn't sure he could have stopped himself. He was losing control.


	24. Chapter 24

The air was so thick with tension as the Potter family arrived at the Burrow that Christmas, James was certain he could feel it, wrapping around members of the family and pulling them in. Lily got the most attention; hugs and kisses and smiles.

Grandma got to James soon enough, though, and she stopped midway through her usual fierce hug of greeting, frozen. She pulled back, holding him at arm's length, scrutinizing him beneath a furrowed brow.

He gave her the biggest smile he could poke onto his face. "Merry Christmas, Grandma!"

She smiled back, but the troubled look did not leave her eyes as she moved to hug his Mum.

If anything, it only intensified as she felt the ribs poking beneath Ginny's robes.

There was barely time to pull his traveling cloak off before dinner was on the table. It was pandemonium, as always, yet he noticed Grandma Molly still found a moment to check his plate, and sure enough, there was plenty of food on it.

There was really no way around it, and he told himself it was Christmas. He deserved it. It didn't help that it was the first time in a month something smelled and tasted good. Turkey and ham and potatoes and vegetables… Grandma Molly seemed reassured as he shoveled food into his mouth, and soon stopped glancing his way.

Teddy didn't, however. Teddy kept one eye on him all through dinner and on to desert. James could feel it as he stared at the serving of Christmas pudding his mother had shoveled onto his plate. For once, however, he didn't care. He could feel beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead and beneath the table, his knees were shaking. His jeans, pulled as tight as they could go with his belt, rubbed uncomfortably against his stomach, which felt full and heavy.

And then, as he leveled a bite of pudding to his lips, it began to hurt. Merlin did it hurt. His spoon clattered to the table as his hands jumped to hug it, though the noise went unnoticed by all but Teddy, whose eyes jumped to meet his.

Teddy glanced away, muttered, "CanIpleasebeexcused," to his mother, but didn't even wait for her nod as he stood. He walked calmly from the kitchen, but as soon as the door swung shut behind him, he broke into a run.

He swung the door to the bathroom shut behind him, and he meant to lock it, but his fingers fumbled and then he was all too quickly out of time.

Everything he'd just eaten came up into the toilet, and he found himself on his knees, gripping the white enamel bowl with both hands and heaving.

The door swung open behind him, then shut, quietly, but James couldn't raise his head. He felt more come up, and closed his eyes as it met the rest with a splash.

He knew who it was anyway. With the way his luck was going, it could be no one else who crossed the room swiftly and crouched beside him, placing a steady hand to his back as he dry heaved, bringing up no more than bile, yet unable to control himself anyway, unable to stop.

He could feel tears building at the backs of his eyes as finally, finally, he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and looked up into the dark eyes of Teddy Lupin. He felt so pathetic. So weak.

Teddy reached a hand up to flush the toilet, keeping the other one on James's back. He freed a wad of toilet paper from the roll on the wall beside him, wet it with his wand, and handed it to James.

James was shaking know, each tremor knocking a tear closer to escaping. He made to wipe his mouth, but his arm was jerking so violently he could barely hold the paper. Teddy took it back from him and wiped his mouth for him, folded it over, then dabbed the sweat from his forehead. That was proof that, same parents or not, they really were brothers. Only a brother cleans up vomit, and not all would do that.

Teddy remained silent as he took in James's face, so gaunt, so pale it seemed grey, tears trickling down it. Then, as James drew in a shuddering breath that seemed prequel to a sob, he pulled the thirteen year old into his chest, one hand in his unruly black hair, the other on his back.

Teddy winced at the feel of ribs sharp beneath his fingers, and the way that each sob altered the shape of his back as his bones shifted. He held him until his cries subsided, then, gently, pushed him away and reached for his wrist.

James flinched and tried to pull away, but Teddy held tight and pushed the sleeve up.

James heard his god brother's sharp intake of breath, but he squeezed his eyes tight, not looking at his arm. He knew what was there, anyway. He knew it was a lot worse than it had been last time Teddy had seen it.

"James," Teddy said, his voice quiet, measured.

Surprised, James turned to face him.

"James, I know if I tell you to stop, you won't listen. I know if I take your knife away, you'll get another one. So I'm not going to waste time doing either. Can you let me see the knife?"

James stared at him.

"I'm not going to take it away, I promise."

"Who says I have it with me?" James asked.

"No one, but I know you do."

Tensing, James reached into his sock and pulled out the knife.

Teddy took it, palmed it, flicked the blade open and observed it. At least he seemed reasonably respectful about it.

Finally, he asked, "Do you wash this before you use it?"

James shook his head.

Teddy sighed. "Try to start, alright? Wash your arm too, if you can. Try not to do it at all."

James doubted any of those things were at all likely, but he gave a slight nod anyway.

From Teddy's expression, James gathered that he didn't believe him in the slightest, but was willing to let it slide. "And either give healing charms your best shot, or do something to disinfect them, okay?"

After James had nodded, Teddy handed the knife back, looking as if he thought he were going to regret it. "Come on," he said, standing. "They're going to be missing us."

James got shakily to his feet as well. "Wait," he said, as his god brother turned his back.

"What?" Teddy responded, glancing back at him.

"Why don't you stop me? Why do you care so much?"

Teddy gave him a long, hard look. "Because," he said finally. He drew his sleeve up past his elbow, revealing a neat column of thin, white scars just beneath the joint. "I used to do it too."

Then he pulled open the door and left, sliding his shirt sleeve back down his arm as he went.

_**Here's an almost horrifically long chapter for you (as far as this story has gone, anyway.) I couldn't think where to split it. Reviews are very much appreciated!**_


	25. Chapter 25

The air was peaceful later. James found himself in possession of a new, limited edition Gobstones set, a fair supply of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes from their creator, a large lump of chocolate he planned on eating none of, a book of advanced Transfiguration with full colored illustrations, a broomstick saddle bag from his parents, and a model Quidditch set.

He was sitting on the floor beside Albus, prodding the tiny robed figures on toothpick style broomsticks around the expertly painted model field on its plastic stand with the tip of his wand when his mother's head jerked upwards across the room. Both brothers followed her eyes and saw his father standing in the corner, twitching.

"Outside," Ginny mouthed, deep in inescapable conversation with her mother, and James sprang quickly to his feet, shoving his brother back down when he tried to follow.

He made his way across the room, but before he could get far, he nearly ran head long into a figure he was quite surprised to see. "Professor Creevey!" he exclaimed.

"James," the man said, smiling warmly.

Out of the corner of his eye, James saw Albus stand and slip towards his father. He bit his tongue.

James made to follow him, but Professor Creevey was watching him.

"So, what brings you here?" James asked casually, desperate for escape.

Dennis laughed. "Oh, I let slip in the staff room that I was going to be alone for Christmas this year, and next thing I knew, Professor Longbottom was dragging me through your Gran's front door."

"Are you two friends, then?" James asked, craning his neck desperately for a sight of Albus.

"Oh, yes, we go way back," Dennis said airily. "Your parents too, we were all at Hogwarts together."

James forced a smile. "I see. Yeah, Mum mentioned once that she was friends with your brother at school."

Dennis stared at him, and for a moment his face seemed to tighten. It passed quickly, however, and a moment later he was smiling freely again. "Quite. Well, James, you look like you have somewhere you want to be, rather than talking with your old Professor. Off with you, then."

"I- er, well, yeah, see you," James muttered, and scooted off, Dennis chuckling in the back ground.

"Why, hello, James!" An airy voice declared mere feet later.

James stopped, muscles tensing. "Hey, Luna," he said, grinning at her and her twin boys, Lorcan and Lysander while mentally grimacing. His face muscles were beginning to ache.

She frowned seriously. "Wrackspurt got you? That's all very understandable, James, they're everywhere in here. Happy Christmas."

And with that she was tugged off by one of her sons- James could never tell which scrawny, wide-eyed blonde seven year old was which.

He broke through the kitchen and out the back door at a run, lest anyone else try to stop him.

Tearing through to the darkened frosty garden, he reached it in time to see his brother and father locked in combat on the grass, and it was instantly clear who had the upper hand. In a moment, Albus was knocked to the ground, Harry falling on top of him, and the boy gave a shriek of terror as the wind was knocked out of him and he lay, panting.

James charged at them, his wand drawn from his pocket. "Stupefy!" he shouted, but the spell missed, and next thing he knew, his father was upon him.

Like Albus before him, James fell to the ground, his wand falling uselessly out of reach as Harry's foot landed square on his chest.

James fought like a wildcat, his arms desperately trying to force his heavy leather shoe away, but the pain was murder, and finally he lay limp under it, hoping the fire in his ribs would ebb. The ground beneath him was frozen and solid, the dying grass icy, freezing his back through his shirt.

Suddenly there came a shout, and Albus ran at his father brandishing a heavy branch, desperately whacking him with cries of "Get off him, Get off!"

And Harry swung around, roaring, catching Albus square in the face with his fists causing him to stumble backward, his glasses cracked and his nose dripping blood.

James forced himself up, clutching at his chest, and staggered to his brother, but before he could reach him, Harry had him by the scruff of the neck and hurled him away. Somewhere, far away, he could hear shouting, screaming. It took him a moment to realize the sounds were coming from his mouth.

James landed hard, the arm he'd thrown out to brace against the fall snapping like a twig before his legs smacked to the ground, knees burning, as did his chin, which caused his teeth to crack against each other. Fire seemed to spring up in every bone in his body, and he was already struggling to remain conscious when Harry's foot swung out of nowhere, catching him first on his stomach, then on the side of his head. And then the darkness surrounding him became complete.

Only moments later, or so it seemed, his mother was crouching beside him, gently shaking his shoulder. He let out a moan as he shifted his face towards her, felt it sticky with blood.

"Oh, sweetie," she whispered.

"Where's Albus?" he wheezed back.

Ginny's lips trembled as she looked tenderly down at him, brushing a lock of dark hair off his forehead. "He's alright," she whispered. "Can you sit up?"

James shook his head. He honestly thought he might throw up, again, if he so much as moved. "Where's Dad?"

She hesitated. "Daddy's inside, James. Shut himself in the loo."

James was struggling to breathe through the pain in his chest.

"Shhh, honey," his Mum whispered. To herself, she mumbled, "Merlin, what am I going to do?"

"You can't take me to Saint Mungo's, Mum," James told her urgently. "One Potter attack is unfortunate, two is worrisome, but three is suspicious. You mustn't!"

His words were so slurred his mother could barely understand him.

There was a sudden intake of breath from just behind the pair, and Ginny whirled.

There stood Hermione, her hand covering her mouth, her eyes wide.

"Oh, Ginny," she whispered, and it was only then that James, his brain still sluggish, realized how much noise they must have been making.

Ginny squeezed her eyes shut, muttering, "Shit."


	26. Chapter 26

Hermione took careful steps over to them, her face tight. She knelt down beside Ginny on the grass, murmuring, "How long has this been going on?"

Ginny didn't answer; just put her head in her hands, letting her hair swing to cover her face.

Hermione sighed, sounding almost as if she were the one in pain, then leaned over James carefully, placing a hand on his shoulder. "James? Can you tell me where it hurts the worst?"

James just moaned, gesturing vaguely with his good arm.

Hermione pulled out her wand and began to murmur over him gently.

His mother had gotten to her feet, and James watched in bewilderment as Ginny's wand slowly slid out of her gold embroidered cloak sleeve.

"Mum… what?" he began, but his mother shook her head furiously in warning, her hair spinning.

He quieted, watching her fearfully. He could feel the bones in his arm gluing themselves together, and his head began to heal as well as some of the fire disappeared from his stomach.

"Hermione?" Ginny squeaked.

She turned to face her sister in law, brow furrowed in worry and confusion.

"I'm really sorry. So, so sorry."

"Ginny-," Hermione began, perplexed.

"_Obliviate_."

And James watched, his pain somewhat diminished, as his aunt's eyes unfocused and her mouth slid open.

And the thirteen year old boy reflected rather dully, as she snapped back into focus and his mother began to help him up and mumble something to her about a fight with Albus, that they had really grown quite desperate.

"Fighting on Christmas?" Hermione tutted, "Really, boys?"

And Albus, who seemed to materialize out of nowhere, still sporting a bloody nose and a rapidly swelling lip, did a proper job of nodding and looking ashamed of himself as his aunt launched into a lecture about holiday spirit whilst his older brother clutched onto their mother, ignoring the searing pains in his chest, head and stomach.

But he couldn't help but remember the way in which his mother's wand hand had shaken as she performed the spell, how her voice had trembled. Maybe, just maybe, the spell hadn't been done properly. Maybe, just maybe, there was still something there, in the back of his aunt's mind. He couldn't be quite certain if it were a good thing or a bad thing. Maybe it was both.

* * *

"Oi! Potter!"

James turned and found Gryffindor beater Braden Micheals behind him, grinning ear to ear.

The stocky fourth year with a mop of straw colored hair and a rather round face said excitedly, "I got a Silver –Striker 11000 for Christmas, James, we're gonna ROCK this next match! And Teddy said to spread the word that we've got practice this Wednesday. Guess he's too much'o a big shot to leave the prefects' carriage now."

James smiled, nodded, and said, "Neat, Brad. Can't wait."

And he stalked off, dragging his rucksack behind him.

And James slumped back against the rough, dirty brick wall behind him, staring to face the scarlet steam engine and clutching at his ribs. Aunt Hermione had had time only to heal part of his injuries, and last night, his father… Well, let's just say he didn't intend on wrestling anyone to the ground in the next few days. Or weeks.

"Are you alright?"

James whirled around, arms falling to his sides to face the speaker, a small, skinny third year with short, spiky dark blonde hair and jade green eyes. "Great. How was your Christmas?"

"Pretty good. Yours?" Dan replied, lugging his rucksack over the pavement to stand beside him.

"Awesome." James said lazily.

Two more lies, and he'd been speaking to him for thirty seconds.

"James! Dan!" Came an excited call.

"Aaron!" James shouted back, sarcasm biting the edges of his voice.

If the red haired boy noticed, he didn't comment. "Man! Wait 'till you guys see, I found the sweetest spell over break." He yanked out his walnut and dragon heart string wand and cast around a moment before targeting a passing first year Ravenclaw. He waved this instrument in a complicated pattern at him and called, "Florecornibura!"

. And as the poor brown haired boy's hands jumped to the flowering horns sprouting just above his ears, James laughed with the others. He smiled so hard, it made his mouth feel misshapen, and his lower lip cracked and began to bleed. Each snort of forced chortles erupted from his mouth, feeling like a stranger as he bent double, clutching his ribs, with tears stinging his eyes. And as Aaron gave another whoop of laughter and hit the kid with the counter curse, James slumped back against the wall. Dan too was wiping tears from his eyes, but James's weren't tears of mirth like his. All he wanted to do was go and lie down, perhaps for a year. Everything hurt so much, and his head was spinning, and the air around his seemed to be floating away.

As the first year darted off, lugging his owl cage behind him, James began to figure in his head. It had been ten days since Christmas. He'd eaten twice. Did it still count if he'd thrown everything up? Would anyone notice how much thinner he'd gotten- maybe even weaker? He shook himself. If his friends noticed he wasn't eating now, it didn't matter. He had a plan.


	27. Chapter 27

After avoiding most of his dinner that evening, but jamming a little more food in his mouth whenever anyone looked his way, James made his way alone to the bathroom off the edge of his dormitory. Sitting on the edge of the cold white counter behind a carefully locked door, he balanced the purple box on one knee and began to read the back of one of his Christmas presents.

He'd been using this particular joke shop product since he could walk, but he wanted to be sure. It wasn't really the same to be using magic to do this as it was if you actually did it, was it? Of course not, he reminded himself.

He removed a tight roll of paper covered objects from the cardboard box and took one out.

He'd used these so many times… for so many other reasons….

_"James! Go find your shoes, we have to go to Uncle Percy's!"_

_"But Mum! I don't want to go to Uncle Percy's!"_

_"I don't really care, James!"_

_"But Mum… I feel sick… Like I might throw up…." (Vomits- spectacularly. And again)_

_"James Sirius Potter, swallow the other end of that Puking Pastille, find your shoes, and remind me to write to Uncle George when we get home and remind him NOT TO GET YOU ANY MORE SKIVING SNACKBOXES!" _

James looked at the orange and purple sweet, wrapper off and sticking to his palm. He weighed the options, but the pressure of the slight food in his stomach outweighed them all. He jammed the first bit into his mouth. Bottoms up!

* * *

That night he lay in agony on his bed in the cool, dark dormitory, drenched in sweat, shirt stuck to his back, clutching his empty stomach. It hurt, his head hurt, every place his father had ever hit him seemed to throb, and nothing was helping. Part of him was unbelievably tempted to go see Madam Pomfrey. But what was he supposed to tell her? 'So, this is where my dad snapped my ribs, probably in more than once, by stepping on them, here's where he kicked me, here's where he punched me- but don't worry, he's under the influence of some random dark wizard. And incidentally, those cuts on my arms? They hurt like mad, but it actually felt really good when I did it…. Am I ashamed? Yeah, a bit, which is why I haven't spoken to Teddy since Christmas, except he used to do it too, did you know? I'm not sure how his are so neat, because as you can see, mine criss-cross all over… how do I feel about Teddy doing it too? Well, that's complicated… all I really wanted were those pain potions… I'm allergic to the purple suppressor, but the greenish and the clear are usually alright…'?

Now James was angry. He didn't understand why everything was so confusing. He didn't know why nothing he did ever played out how he expected it to. He didn't know why his father was how he was. He didn't know who was making him hurt his family. He didn't know why he never did anything well enough. He didn't know why he was so stupid, why he was so pathetic, why he was so weak. He didn't understand why the rest of the world seemed fully functional even when his was flipped upside down. He didn't know why jamming a knife into his arm felt so good, as he did it over and over and over again, or why more cuts always seemed to make the pain go away. He wasn't sure why that would seem backwards. He had no clue why more blood would solve all his problems, but as he wiped the blade of his knife clean and tucked it back under his pillow, jamming his pajama sleeve over the cuts to soak up the fresh blood, he sure was glad it did. Maybe he could sleep, now. He didn't even feel hungry anymore.

* * *

"Potter?"

The professor stared with vague concern at the boy in front of him, who had been watching the lazy circle of a hippogriff over the grounds for at least a quarter hour. "James Potter? Are you with us?"

"Um.. yeah. Um…"

Aaron muttered, "Asphodel, James!"

"Um… I believe the answer would be Powdered Root of Asphodel, sir."

Now Professor O'Keefe just looked tired. "I asked how many hours you have to brew the potion to ward of Island Morazers, James. Asphodel isn't even an ingredient."

A few of the Slytherins in the back row were sniggering.

Aaron was rubbing his shin under the desk; Dan had kicked him.

"Stay a moment after class, won't you, Mr. Potter?"

Looking mutinously in Aaron's direction, James nodded. Aaron grinned slightly.

"Now, Mr. Cole, perhaps you would like to tell me at which moon stage the potion has greatest effect?"

"Half moon, right… because of the…. Atmospheric whatever it is?"

"Incorrect. A cloudy day at new moon would prove most effective because…? Mr. Apollo?"

Dan put his hand down.

"The light from the moon and stars would distract from the potion's fluorescence, sir."

"Indeed. Now, take out your textbooks and-,"

There was a collective groan. Professor O'Keefe raised his voice slightly. "_Take out your textbooks _and turn to page three hundred twenty four; I would like you to answer numbers two, seven and nine of the comprehensive review for tomorrow, please, and no talking!"

"Sorry about that, James," Aaron muttered, "I didn't mean to-,"

"Mr. Skelling, I don't believe you are exempted from following instructions given to the class at large. _Take_ out your textbook, _turn_ to page three hundred twenty four, and _get started_!"

"Yes, sir," Aaron grumbled, pulling his defense book from the bag hanging on the back of his chair.

Neither James, nor Aaron, nor even Dan heard as Professor O'Keefe slipped out into the corridor.

* * *

"Expecto Patronum!" he whispered to the empty corridor.

Out shot a silver glowing bobcat, which landed with silent grace on the cold stone floors.

"I have him alone in my office after class," Professor O'Keefe whispered, so quietly his words were barely legible, even to the silence. "Come quickly."

And the bobcat pranced off, fading into a blur of light as it did so, but leaving the professor with no doubt. His message would be delivered.


	28. Chapter 28

"So, James," Professor McGonagall said lightly, placing a thick sheath of files on the desk before her. "Professor Longbottom, Professor O'Keefe, Professor Creevey and I thought this might be a good time to talk over your grades."

"Oh…" James muttered. "Is that all? Grades?"

"Yes," said Professor McGonagall rather disapprovingly. "_Grades_. Those funny little red squiggles on your essays…"

"Mid Semester examinations are coming up, Mr. Potter," Professor O'Keefe informed him.

"And I do hope that you are aware that any member of the Gryffindor Quidditch team-,"

James's eyes widened as Professor McGonagall spoke, "Receiving more than four unsatisfactory marks on a standardized examination will not be permitted to play."

James sank rather deflatedly into his seat.

Professor Longbottom shifted the papers in front of him. "That would mean pulling your averages up in… Herbology, Defense, Transfiguration, Astronomy, Potions and History of Magic."

James hung his head.

Professor McGonagall spoke cautiously as she said next, "But that's not all we're worried about, James."

The boy tensed, his head still down but his eyes flickering from his lap to rest on each of the stern faces before him.

Neville said gently, "You've been distracted, in classes. Not only your poor marks, but unsatisfactory class discussion and participation, attendance and performance."

"And we know some things with your family are… a little rough around the edges right now," Professor O'Keefe added.

"We just wanted to make sure you knew that we as a staff are here if you need us, James," Professor McGonagall finished, looking intently at him.

James skirted her gaze, then hitched a rather vague smile onto his face. "Right… Thanks, Professor- Professors, but we're all pretty much good, now that Lily's out of the hospital and all, so…"

"All the same, James," Professor Longbottom said with a small smile. "The doors to the greenhouses are always open, except number six, obviously, because the fanged geraniums don't do well in excessive light or conditions…"

"The same for us," Professor O'Keefe added as Professors McGonagall and Creevey nodded, "Except for the bit about the geraniums."

James cracked another plastered grin and a forced chuckle. "Brilliant… I'll keep that in mind."

And with that, he swung his book bag over his shoulder, managed to avoid wincing as the edge of A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration, Level Three banged the cuts behind the bandages on his arm, and ducked out the door.

It made skipping lunch easy enough.

James hated it. Right now, he hated his teachers. He hated that look in their eyes, _rough around the edges at home_. He hated his friends. He hated their concern, _You alright, James?_ He hated his family. _Why aren't you eating, James_- didn't they understand? Of course they didn't, no one did. _I'm not going to take it away, I promise_- Who was Teddy kidding? James could never trust him. He could never trust anyone.

_"Daddy, I'm scared."_

_"It's alright, James. Just hold the handle tightly and push off the ground with your toes."_

_"I'm going to fall, Dad!"_

_"Trust me, James. Look, I'm right here. I've got my broom too, and I'll fly right next to you. I won't let you fall."_

_"Do you promise?"_

_"I promise. Everyone's nervous the first time they ride a broom, James. Now look, up we go, nice and gentle. Now, accelerate, a little more, little more…"_

_"Dad, this is FUN!"_

_"I'm glad you like it. Want to go faster?"_

_"YES!" _

Especially not him. Even if it wasn't his fault. Or was it? Was it his father's fault if he wouldn't go to the ministry to get himself checked out?

He pushed the thought out of his head. He couldn't let people worry about him anymore. He had to get his grades up, walk around smiling, and something else. What would really convince them?

He stopped in his tracks as an idea struck him, considering for a moment. Would that work? Maybe…. But it really had to be brilliant.

He set off down the corridor at a run, his bag slapping his thighs. He had some planning to do, and he was going to need a lot of care, ingenuity, and Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

* * *

And he was running again. If we were honest, it wasn't supposed to have turned out quite like that…

"JAMES! GET THE HELL BACK HERE!"

"No can do, Professor," James mumbled under his breath.

He had only meant to turn the stairs into slides; it wasn't that big of a prank. He certainly hadn't meant it to end with a full scale duel in the corridors after Alden Stonehenge crashed headlong into Angela Warner, who was already steaming about something before she flew headlong down two stories and slammed into one of the cutest boys in fifth year, or Neville chasing his mate's spell-scorched son down the charms corridor.

"Whoops," James muttered, leaving long, black scorched marks as he rounded a corner a little quickly and skidded down one of his own slides. He regained his balance and shot himself down a few more halls, and Neville was still hot on his heels when he swerved quickly, bolted through the secret passage concealed behind the portrait of Balthazar the Bereaved and stopped for a moment to catch his breath as he heard the random pattern of Neville's footfalls as he rushed past, then they slowed and turned back.

Swearing under his breath, James directed his wand at the floor beneath him and hissed, "_Dissendium_!"

The ground beneath him gave way into a smooth passage, which he sealed as soon as it released him some three floors down. "That should confuse him," James mumbled, scuffing his shoes guiltily on the pavement. It had only been a prank, surely he wasn't supposed to feel so guilty about it? No one had really been hurt. And from the crowing of his best buddy, Aaron wasn't too worried anymore. And Neville had looked pretty ticked off, so he might stop it with the 'poor James' act. For now.


	29. Chapter 29

"Fidelio! Catch!"

"Dan!"

"Fidelio!"

"Teddy!"

"Dan!"

"Teddy!"

"Dan!"

"Dan, over here!"

"Teddy!"

"Dan!"

"Fidelio!"

"Teddy!"

Teddy caught the quaffle with ease for the final time, giving his whistle one last tweet.

"Alright, beaters, I want you to practice that new move we were trying Sunday, the Bludger Backbeat! Chasers, get in place, you've been doing a pretty rotten job with formation lately, so we need to work on that. I don't know who else, if anyone, listened to the Gargoyles- Stormers game yesterday, but Hawkshed Attacking Formation is serving them pretty well, we should try more of it. James…" his voice faded away. "You're doing great! But I want you to try the Double Eight Loop again, you've almost got it. Ten more minutes, then we'll scrimmage!"

Exhausted and more than a little dizzy, James tightened his grip on his broom and began to track a path around the goal hoops. Lately he'd been so tired, so out of breath, so _cold_. But he couldn't let anyone see. That was important. Now, should he add an extra loop there, for an intermediate precaution? His chest seared, but he pushed the pain away. Focus. He had to go faster. _Faster_. He looped around the goal posts until the rest of the pitch was a blur, until he was beyond dizzy, until his head seemed separate from the rest of his body, until he wasn't sure his body was on the broom anymore.

_WHAM!_

"James!"

He was falling… falling, his back felt like it had burst into a million pieces and he was beyond pain, but apart from it too. Part of him wondered why he was screaming.

And then he collided back-first with the ground, and that bit of his brain was knocked out of him with his breath.

"James? You alright?"

He forced himself up off the ground to face Teddy, gasping for air.

"Bludger," Teddy explained. He helped him the rest of the way up.

"HI'm…. Hokay…" James panted.

"Go hit the locker rooms," his god brother said firmly. "And maybe Madam Pomfrey, I don't know. Is anything broken?"

Not that hadn't been before. He hoped. He was nearly bent double with pain, but no way was he going to see Madam Pomfrey. "Fine."

"Go on," Teddy said, so James shouldered his broom and headed for the locker room.

He pulled his training shirt, which was practically stuck to his back with sweat, off over his head, wincing, then craned his neck to see his back. His spinal cord rose in ridges and lumps out of his back, and he could see nearly every rib, rising to form hills and leave canyons between them. When had that happened? It made it fairly easy to see that one of the ribs broken before appeared dislocated; it was sticking up in the wrong direction, but he'd essentially grown immune to rib pain, and there wasn't much he could do about it. He muttered a spell causing a jet of ice-cold air to numb the pain, then pulled a clean sleeveless undershirt on over so he didn't have to look at it anymore. He had bent over the sink and was washing sweat off his face when he heard the door to the locker room swing open and Aaron's voice call, "James? Teddy sent us to make sure you were still breathing…?"

There was no time to do anything; no time to hide. Aaron and Dan were standing there, staring at him. His arms were fully exposed. One gripped the edge of the sink at an angle, giving his best friends a perfect view of the fresh slashes, scabs, and scars making their way up his arm and over his shoulder. And a fair amount of fading bruises to boot.

Aaron's eyes had widened; his expression bewildered, but Dan knew. And his eyes were just as wide. Because Dan was pretty brilliant with arithmancy. It came from a muggle mother who put him through years of arithmetic, he said. He knew how to put two and three together to get five. And one and four. And two, two, and one. And probably two and a half and two and a half as well. Like the knife that had once fallen out of the pocket of James's robes. And the set of cuts on the back of his right hand James had failed miserably to shield from view. And James's odd behavior that year was a pretty good indicator as well.

So, mentally, James applied some of his mother's favorite words in such situations. _Merlin's pants, Merlin's Pants, Merlin's Pants-,_

"James?"

_Shit._

Dan crossed the room in a flurry of movement, Aaron just behind him.

Dan grabbed hold of James's arm, turned it over, then looked up into his friend's eyes. James couldn't meet them. He ducked his head, staring away.

"Why?" Aaron asked.

James was so completely not in the mood, it wasn't even funny. "Look, I'll talk to you later, alright?"

"Not alright," Aaron replied. "Talk to me now."

"No, look, the rest of the team will be here soon. I'll talk to you later."

It was amazing how quickly his mouth could go dry; how fast his heart could pump. He turned away from them, pulling his shirt over his head.

"Alright, just tell me how long you've been doing it," Dan said. Aaron gave him an odd look.

"September, maybe," James replied. "I don't really know."

"What do you use?" Dan asked.

"What's this going to turn into, twenty questions?" James shot.

"What do you use?" Dan persisted.

"A pocket knife. Happy?"

"No, James, I'm not. I don't get it. What's been going on this year?" Dan asked.

"Isn't it obvious?" Aaron asked. "He's been bloody cutting himself!"

"Cutting is a symptom, Aaron," Dan informed him, "Of something else."

"What… you don't mean… James, do you want to kill yourself?" His voice came out strangled.

"No!" James said, and it was true. He didn't. He'd be of no use to anyone, then. "It just helps me, alright? Now, shut it! They're coming."

James slipped out of the changing room, ducking around Teddy, who had opened his mouth to inquire about his well-being, and through the door.

Dan and Aaron took one look at each other before they followed him, but once outside, Dan grabbed Aaron's arm.

"What are you doing?" Aaron asked, surprised. It surprised him more how shaky his voice sounded as his mind reeled. "We aren't going after him?"

"Give him some time," Dan replied, his voice sounding distant. "Besides, Aaron, there's something we have to do."

"We have to shower and get dressed for Transfiguration?" Aaron suggested.

"Obviously, but after that." Dan said.

"And… what's that?" Aaron said.

"We're going to tell a teacher," Dan replied.

"Tell a…you're kidding!"

"Do I look like I'm kidding?" Dan asked.

"But… we can't do that to him!" Aaron said, sounding panicked. "He'd kill us! It's his secret, we're not betraying him like that!"

"We will," Dan said.

"But what if he gets in trouble? What if they tell his parents… or- or put him in some sort of an institution or something? We can't do that to him!"

"No," Dan said readily, "He can't do that to himself."


	30. Chapter 30

"Excuse me, Professor?"

At the sudden deviant noise from the gentle chatter of students on their study hour and the gentle settling of mist onto the ready leaves of the plants beneath the enchanted roof of greenhouse three, Neville Longbottom turned from the blackboard propped against the west facing, on which he had been scribbling the instructions for fourth years on how best to determine the proper sprouting environments of the temperamental Mormora Vigilanis.

"What can I do for you, Aaron, Dan?"

Both boys fidgeted for a moment before Dan spoke up, "When do you next have a class?"

Neville glanced briefly at his watch. "Not for another good half an hour."

"Can- Can we talk to you- a bit?" Aaron asked.

Neville set the chalk down and raised an eyebrow. "Certainly."

Dan glanced first at the studying group of sixth years perched at a table in one corner, then at the propped open door and wide windows of the greenhouse, looking vaguely uncomfortable. Aaron bit his lower lip, then did the same.

Neville frowned deeply. "In my back office, perhaps?"

Both boys nodded.

Neville shouted over their heads to the sixth years. "Girls! Don't poison yourselves, alright? I need a cup of tea."

One of them called back, "Alright, Professor!" before turning back to the others.

"Come on," he said then to Aaron and Dan before leading them into the back work room.

* * *

"Alright, feel free to sit down," Neville said, gesturing at the selection of chairs in front of his desk. He himself settled into the teacher's chair behind the desk with a raised eyebrow.

"Well- Professor, we weren't so much wondering- as-," Aaron flustered.

"Can this be kept quiet, Professor?" Dan asked, kicking Aaron lightly under their chairs.

Neville's natural reaction would have been to answer positively, but legally, he had to be cautious. "Kept quiet from whom?" he asked.

The boys exchanged a quick glance. "Most people, pretty much..." Aaron trailed off. "The other kids, I mean. And... parents."

Neville took a deep breath. "Well, I can make no promises," he told them, "But if you have something to tell me that you would like to be contained, I can promise not to tell anyone who doesn't need to know."

Dan and Aaron stared at each other again. "I guess that's the best we're going to get," Dan said. "Professor, what- what would you do if we-"

"What would you do if we told you someone was cutting themselves?" Aaron blurted.

Professor Longbottom's eyes widened. His mind appeared to be whirring, and after a moment, he replied, "Does this have anything- and I mean anything at all- to do with James Potter?"

At both boys' nods, Neville let his eyes drop close. "Let's go talk to Professor McGonagall."

Aaron and Dan gulped. They hadn't really expected this.

* * *

Neville's footsteps were rapid against the cobblestone of the nearly empty, sun-lit corridors, his strides overwhelmingly long; so long the boys following behind him had to jog to keep up. He didn't notice, and Dan and Aaron didn't say anything. Aaron's mouth was so dry he feared his tongue would stick to the roof of his mouth permanently, though some of his professors might have considered this to be an accomplishment.

At long last, they reached the stone guardian to the headmistress's office. At a word from Neville, they'd been brought into the passage, and Aaron shifted himself nervously from foot to foot as they grew nearer to the door. As Neville knocked, the sound reverberated in his ears, and he nearly fainted dead away when the intimidating voice rang out, "Come in."

Professor Longbottom flung the door open wide and strode in, and Professor McGonagall, sensing upset, stood immediately.

"Minerva," Neville said, "These boys have come to me with something important, and I thought it might be better if we had two sets of ears."

The headmistress was instantly attentive; her eyes alight with concern as she stared at the ducked heads, one blonde and one red.

Neville guided them forward into the room with a careful hand to each shoulder, and closed the door behind them.

"Well," Dan said uncomfortably, "we found out today that someone- they're cutting themselves. We're pretty sure, anyway, we saw scars and stuff."

"And he's been acting weird," Aaron admitted. "He's skipping meals and things."

Professor McGonagall's eyes were wide and she was leaning forward slightly. "Who?" she asked, sounding alarmingly concerned. It was her job, Dan supposed.

Aaron tugged at a lock of his hair, which had grown longer at the front since the beginning of the school year. "Dan-," He said suddenly, "I don't know- he's gonna kill us."

Professor Longbottom was standing beside Professor McGonagall with his arms crossed across his chest. He did not look angry, but almost afraid. Definitely upset. "Boys, I just want you to understand that you've done the right thing by coming here."

"Absolutely," Professor McGonagall added. "It took real courage for you to do that, and you're not tattling, not at all. You're showing concern for your friend, and we're very proud of you."

"It's James," Dan admitted suddenly.

Professor McGonagall looked shocked. "James! James Potter?"

Both boys nodded solemnly.

She and Professor Longbottom exchanged glances that, to Dan and Aaron, seemed to hold a world of communication.

"Tell us everything you know," Professor McGonagall instructed.

And they did. Beginning with the incident in the bathroom and tag-teaming, each filling in when the other had forgotten something, they spoke for nearly a quarter of an hour. It felt like much longer to them, however, with both professors' eyes boring into them, each exclaiming softly at a particularly grim aspect, or exchanging loaded looks with each other as if they thought something they had said might have some deeper meaning.

Dan and Aaron told everything they could think of, remembering some bits only as they spoke so everything came out a jumbled mess.

Something in particular seemed to have caught Professor Longbottom's attention. "What do you mean, bruises?" he interrupted mid-flow, earning a glare from Professor McGonagall.

"I dunno," Aaron said, disconcerted. "Quidditch injuries?" he said, exchanging a look of his own with his friend.

Dan shook his head slowly, trying to pick up hints from Neville's face. "The one time, after he came back from home after his mother was admitted to St. Mungo's, it looked like someone grabbed and slapped him."

Neville's features worked quickly. First he looked shocked, then panicked, then confused, then he managed to iron it all out. "I'm sure not, but sometimes bruises from other things can give that impression," he said consolingly.

When at last the two seemed to have said everything, Neville stepped forward. "Is that all?"

They nodded.

"Thank you very much," Professor McGonagall said.

"And you can rest assured that we will give the matter our full attention," Neville said.

"Once again, boys, you have certainly done the right thing," Professor McGonagall said.

"And now it's out of your hands," Neville told them.

"In fact," Professor McGonagall began, "It might just be best if you put it out of your minds for the time being."

"James doesn't need to be badgered right now," Neville counseled, "He needs a friend, and I trust that you two can do that well."

"Thank you," Professor McGonagall repeated, and then she opened the door and showed the boys out.

Aaron started down the stairs, but Dan caught him by the arm, raising a finger to his lips.

Both boys crouched by the door, pressing their ears into the wood. The hushed whispers became more distinct.

"What exactly do you think we're going to do now?" Neville asked, sounding slightly panicked.

"I'm not entirely sure," Professor McGonagall admitted. "Standard protocol would be to contact the parents….. but something right now is telling me that isn't in his best interests."

"Damn protocol," Neville hissed, "Poppy was right, wasn't she? Harry's freaking beating his kid!"

"We don't know that for sure," Professor McGonagall cautioned.

"He's freaking beating his kid," Neville repeated as though he had not heard, "And look where it's gotten him! James is freaking cutting himself! I've known that kid since before he was born, Minerva. He sat on my lap eight years ago reciting some complicated yarn about a Holyhead Harpies player who got her broomstick stuck up her nose and had to go to Albus Dumbledore to fix it, and now he has to make himself bleed to feel better?"

"We don't know anything for sure," Professor McGonagall said again. "We don't know anything about what's going on."

"So what are we going to do?" Neville asked.

Dan and Aaron heard Professor McGonagall take a long breath. "We're going to wait."


	31. Chapter 31

"I know how you feel, Neville, but I still think it's something they need to see."

It was nearly a week later. Strolling down a side corridor, one he used frequently as it led to a way onto the grounds- a "Side door", if you will- one he much preferred to the main doors, Neville maintained as much control as he could and replied frostily. "I can see where you're coming from, Kenneth, but I absolutely can not condone you taking a group of school children to see memories of the battle of Hogwarts. Too many people lost friends and family. I lost friends. Even Dennis-,"

Professor Creevey's frown deepened. "Leave my brother out of this, please," he said. "I think it's a good idea, Neville. Especially considering Kenneth wishes to show it to seventh years, and it was seventh years who fought in the battle. And sixth years, of course…"

"And," Neville said, beginning to grow agitated, "How precisely do you plan on obtaining these memories, seeing as neither of you actually fought the battle?"

"I would have if I could have," Dennis snapped, "But he wouldn't let me! He dragged me down that passage, threatened to tie me up if I tried to go after him, then went back inside the damn war zone to fight for Potter!"

"Dennis," Kenneth O'Keefe soothed, "We know, alright? But Neville, you're not the only one with the memories. Professor McGonagall, for one-,"

"Under no uncertain terms will Minerva ever allow you to take children to see that battle! It's not a muggle sitcom, Kenneth!"

"Professor McGonagall won't head this school forever!"

Neville stopped short, glaring. "Is that a threat, O'Keefe? You could be brought before the ministry-,"

"Hardly," Kenneth laughed. "The woman's left one hundred in the dust, Longbottom. There's talk of her retiring at the end of this year, actually."

"And I believe as Deputy Head, you'd have just as hard a time swaying me." He replied icily.

Kenneth opened his mouth to retort, but closed it again almost instantly. "We can't fight amongst ourselves," he said finally.

Neville closed his eyes a moment. "You're right. I do apologize, Dennis, Kenneth. I suppose it's just particularly hard for me, being a veteran and all."

"No, it's my fault," O'Keefe replied. "I was instigating an argument."

Neville was about to acknowledge this, but then he heard raised voices. He stopped in his tracks. He knew those voices. And he didn't like what they were saying.

Professors O'Keefe and Creevey who, up until a moment ago, had been walking alongside him, turned questioningly.

Neville raised a finger to his lips, nodding down the corridor. They heard the argument too, and it took them a moment to understand, but they paused as well, listening.

"Quit avoiding it, Teddy! Was it you, or wasn't it?"

"I've got no bloody idea what you're talking about. Tone it down about ten notches, James, the whole castle can probably hear you!"

"The teachers know," James hissed. "I know they know! They've been looking at me weird, they've been talking about me, they're just- I know they know, alright?"

"Well, I didn't tell them," Teddy offered weakly, "But maybe it's for the best, James."

"It was you, wasn't it? I trusted you!"

"James, it wasn't me! You know I-,"

Neville decided he'd heard enough and rounded the corner, the others behind him.

James and Teddy stood inches away from each other, James red in the face and evidently on the verge of tears, Teddy turquoise haired and bewildered, but also defensive, his arms crossed over his chest. Riley Gordon, Teddy's best friend,

Professor O'Keefe evidently understood none of it. His smile was far too relaxed. "Haven't been fighting, have we, boys?" The straw haired defense teacher asked, eyebrow raised.

James didn't answer. Instead, he took one look at Neville and turned to run the other direction, though not before he fired one last mark at Teddy. "I'm sick of this! I can never trust any of you! It could be anyone and I hate it! I'm done! DONE!"

Neville worked his face into the same perplexed expression as the other two teachers.

"Teddy?" he said.

Inside, he was reeling. It didn't make any sense that Teddy knew too. Teddy was a good kid; he would have done something. And parts of the dialogue didn't make sense, either. No, this argument was about something else, something… trivial. But it didn't look trivial to Teddy.

"Mr. Lupin?" Professor O'Keefe. "Is something wrong with Mr. Potter? Something… the rest of us should know about?"

But Teddy looked horrified, and he was staring off in the direction James had vanished.

"He's done… He's _done_…. Holy Shit-," Teddy murmured, and then he practically jumped a foot in the air. "Professor!" he cried, turning to Neville. "I should have told you before-,"

"Yes," Neville said, his features stormy. "You should have. You knew about this, Teddy? You knew he-,"

"Yes I knew, but I couldn't- now's not the time, Professor, I think- I think he's going to try- he carries it with him, Neville! He's going to-!" Teddy stuttered frantically.

Riley Gordon and Professors O'Keefe and Creevey wore similar gaping expressions. None of them had a clue what was going on.

"Is he just going to do it?" Neville asked wildly, "Or do you think-"

"I don't know!" Teddy cried.

Neville had gone very white. "Either way, it's utterly urgent he be stopped. When he's that upset, anything is possible. Where would he have gone?"

"How the hell am I supposed to know? We've got to find him!"

And with that, Teddy turned and ran pell-mell in the direction James had gone, nearly hysteric.

Adrenaline pulsing, Neville knew they were done with the waiting.

He turned his eyes to the startled Professor Creevey and bewildered O'Keefe.

"We need to find James. Need to. At all costs. It's a matter of- It's a matter of life and death, for real this time."


	32. Chapter 32

It took nearly an hour to find him. It was murder to Teddy; he estimated it would have taken his god brother about five minutes to find a quiet place, pull out his knife, slit his wrists and bleed to death.

Teddy had left the obvious places, the Gryffindor Dormitories and boys' bathrooms, up to the teachers. James would never go there.

He checked Moaning Myrtle's bathroom first. It was more or less a Weasley and co. black market in there, a place to hide things, trade things, drag boys in for a snog. A place to slice one's life away.

But he wasn't there. Nor was he outside; by the lake, along the edge of the Forbidden Forest, running on the Quidditch Pitch, sulking in the greenhouses.

He ran back to the castle, the grounds a blur.

He registered subconsciously that he wasn't sure what had happened to Riley, with whom he'd been walking when he met James in the corridor, but it didn't seem to matter.

He wasn't in the first several yards of any of the basic seven secret passages Teddy had told him about either.

The room of requirement?

It was impossible to find out.

Teddy, standing desperately in the middle of the seventh year corridor, kicked a wall in desperation. It didn't do much good, not that he'd expected it to.

Twisting his face up in concentration, he morphed his hair. From turquoise to red, red to black, black to green, green to silver. Where could he be?

Anything, he thought desperately. Anything.

Gasping and out of breath, Neville tore into Gryffindor common room. This led to some stares from the various students. Teachers were not common there, and it usually meant bad news.

Seventh year Elijah Simmons stood from near the fire, where he appeared to have been tutoring third year siblings Stuart and Nancy Benner.

"Help you, Professor?" he asked politely.

"Elijah, are the third years on the fourth story?" he panted.

At his perplexed reply in the positive, Neville nodded his thanks and took off up the stairs.

In the room, he found a typical dormitory-at-9:00 scene.

Dan and Aaron were on the same bed, Aaron hanging upside-down off the end of it, Dan propped against his pillow with a book. Connor Halleran had his back to the door, as he was seated cross-legged on the bed in his pajamas, scribbling sloppily on a length of parchment, holding his tape measure to it and cursing. His friend Anastasia Mott was next to him, rolling her eyes and quietly indicating a mistake. Girls were not technically permitted in the boys' dormitories, but the rule had been disregarded for so long few remembered it existed. Liam Retter was asleep, his feet dangling off the edge of the bed, snoring slightly.

"Seen James Potter?" Neville panted.

Connor shook his head. Dan looked up. "Not since dinner," he replied.

Aaron tried and failed to sit up, winding up on his back on the floor. He scrambled quickly to his feet. "Why?" he demanded, "Professor, is he-?"

"Not sure," Neville said evasively. "Got any best guesses as to where he might be?"

"He said he was going to find Teddy," Aaron informed him.

Neville nodded and left the room, wondering how he could seem so calm outside when his heart and mind were racing.

Again Teddy ran. Through corridors, up or down staircases he darted, plowing through older students still out and about, charging through secret passageways. He knew where he was. He knew exactly where he was. A perfect place to hang on the edge, dangle one foot off, think you were going to jump. Stare out at the grounds and think, or read, or do homework. It was he who had shown it to James. The clock tower.

It was a small door, more of a cupboard, hidden away in an isolated alcove. It lead you right in to the heart of the clock, full of grinding gears and swinging beams and ringing bells. But there was a way to get through it all, and when you did, there was a tiny ledge on one side of the transparent clock place. As he'd said, the perfect place.

And there, sitting on the edge of the ledge, on leg hugged to his body, the other swinging, was James. He was a little pale, and there was a smear of blood on one cheek, but he was alive.

"'M sorry, Teddy," James whispered.

"Why haven't you come back?" Teddy asked.

"Didn't want to risk it," James murmured, sliding against the wall with his eyes closed.

"You alright?" Teddy asked quickly. "What's the matter, James?"

"Sort of dizzy." That was bad.

"When was the last time you ate something?"

"….Yesterday, maybe? Or the day before?"

That was very bad. "How seriously were you bleeding?"

"Pretty bad. I had bandages, though. Cleaned it up. I felt off before too, if that's what you're asking."

"Can you make it back?" Teddy asked, panicked. Terrified.

James shook his head slightly. No. Merlin.

"I'll be able to… few minutes."

"Can I stay with you?"

"Please."

"Let me send a patronus to Neville. You scared the crap out of him, James."

"How come?"

"He thought you were going to kill yourself."

No answer.

"You weren't trying to, right?"

Still no response.

"Right, James?"

Nothing.

"James?"

He'd passed out. Or fallen asleep, Teddy wasn't sure which.

"James!" he shook him slightly. "Answer me!"

James's eyes fluttered. "'M alright."

"Expecto Patronum," Teddy muttered.

The small, dark space in the tower was illuminated suddenly by the bright light of the silver wolf.

Teddy whispered his message gently, and the silver, glowing form soared away.

Teddy shifted his position on the ledge, pulling James into his side.

"Teddy?"

"Hm?"

"You didn't tell him what I did, right?" he whispered.

"No, James. I just told him I'd found you, and that I'd bring you back when you were ready."

"You won't, will you?"

"Bring you back?"

"No, tell him. Tell him I've been…"

"I probably should."

"No, please…. Please don't."

He couldn't deny him, not when he was like this. "I- alright, James."

"Promise?"

"I promise."


	33. Chapter 33

James was worried. Panicked. Terrified. Or worse. Neville's mind was not on his class. Neville's mind was always on his class, even when he wasn't in class. Neville was a Herbology enthusiast. He was a Herbology teacher. He loved Herbology. He was an expert. Herbology experts do not gesture vaguely at a plant and mispronounce its Latin name. Especially when they are supposed to be instructing a lesson on the special layout of said plant's roots. If a Herbology expert mispronounces the name of a third year level plant, which he has been saying since he was in third year, said expert is distracted. And perhaps James was incorrect, perhaps he was biased, perhaps he was paranoid, perhaps he was a self-centered little brat, but he was pretty sure the reason Neville was distracted had something to do with him.

James glanced at the parchment in front of him. It was dusty, smeared with fertilizer, splattered with ink, and overall a mess. Yet the diagram he was supposed to be drawing of the plant's roots was nowhere in sight. If Neville noticed, which was unlikely, he didn't care. Neither did James. The diagram went undrawn.

James registered vaguely that the diagrams had not been collected. They were to be finished for homework, which was good because James could copy Aaron's. He would probably not get a grade above average, or even average, but he was too far gone to care. He doubted Neville would either.

James's head hurt, and the edges of his vision kept breaking out in black spots, at which point he would be able to feel himself swaying. His arms felt stiff and swollen, and every tiny movement sent a wave of pain through them. After the lesson, they had break. Didn't they? He couldn't seem to remember. If not, he'd just ditch class. He somehow felt he'd learn more that way. He needed to find a private place, most likely a bathroom, and heal the bloody (bloody) cuts on his arms. He'd been too tired last night; he hadn't had the energy to make more than sparks come out of his wand. After that, he'd probably catch up with Aaron and Dan. And then Quidditch practice. It was important; they had a game tomorrow.

But no. When the bell rang, James crumpled his parchment and shoved it in his bag with his quill and his ink and his textbook. He fumbled with the straps until they closed, and he made to stand. But Neville caught him by the shoulder. Said something James couldn't quite hear. He squinted up into his face, as if he could memorize every detail. Wrinkles, deepest on his forehead and between his eyes. He was frowning, saying something. His mouth moved, oddly slowly, and his wrinkles moved with his mouth. His gold rimmed glasses slipped down his nose. When his father's glasses slipped, Harry had to push them back up. It was compulsive. But Neville let them slide. His eyes were brown. Medium brown, with hazel flecks in the corner of the iris. His hair, stuck somewhere between light brown and dark blonde, with the shock of silver at the front. Now he was frowning. His mouth moved again, but James couldn't make out the words. He stared at him, uncomprehending. The noise in the background, other students packing and leaving, muffled and dulled, then roared back to life.

One voice stuck out. It was a teacher, not a student. Professor McGonagall, pushing her way forward through the crowd. "For Merlin's sake, Neville, give him something!"

Neville's grip on his arm tightened, and he dragged him through, back into his office. It was quiet there. James could think. Almost.

Neville let him go, and he stumbled. Knocked into a wall… or a desk. Heard something hit the ground behind him, bent to pick it up. It had broken, whatever it was, and the edges were sharp. His hand slipped, and the edge caught him by the finger. A thin line of blood began to show, growing darker and thicker. But it wasn't enough.

He felt Neville crouch down beside where he had fallen against a wall- a real one this time, where he was staring mesmerized at his finger. The blood trickled down it.

Neville had something. A beaker. He unstoppered it, pressing the lip of the glass to James's mouth. James felt the liquid, cool and thick and almost gritty, hit his tongue, and, for a moment, tasted nothing. Then he could feel it sting his mouth and burn through his sinuses up to his brain.

He yelped. But then his mind cleared, and he sat up, feeling steam explode through his ears as he doubled over, coughing and sputtering against the searing in his throat. Pepper-up potion, he realized.

Then he realized he was in trouble.

"Have a seat, James," Professor Longbottom said pleasantly, indicating a wide, round brown table on the opposite side of the office.

James sat. What choice did he have?

"Professor McGonagall and I wanted to have a little talk with you, James," Neville continued, a forced little smile sitting on his face. "Nothing to worry about. Unless, of course-"

He pulled up a chair opposite James, faced him, and forced his smile a little wider. "Unless you have something to hide."

What did they know? How much?

His dad? His knife? The puking pastilles? HIS DAD?

What were they going to do?

Then, he realized it didn't matter. He wasn't going to tell them nothing. Oh. He wasn't going to tell them anything. Like grammar mattered anymore.


	34. Chapter 34

"James," Neville said casually, "we would like you to take your cloak off." The three sat in the office, the professors on one side of the table, James on the other, feeling rather small. He stared despairingly at the plain, white walls, with their small portraits and oil paintings, mainly of vegetation, and the potted plants seated on shelves between books or hanging off hooks on the walls. No sign of a way out.

James's mind raced. He had to get out of here. They were going to make him… "Will I be staying that long?" Keep it informal. Just another chat with good ole' Uncle Neville.

They didn't answer him. He slid his cloak off, letting it settle on the back of his chair. Beneath it, he wore his robes.

"The full kit, James? I thought you usually preferred a shirt and pants." Neville remarked.

James didn't reply.

"Would you mind showing us your arms, James?" Professor McGonagall asked.

"You mean… undress?" James asked, trying to pretend he wasn't taking it seriously at all.

"Haven't you any pants on, James?" She queried.

"Of course," James said, "But I'm wearing a long sleeved shirt."

"Why?" Neville said.

James gave him a hard look. "Because it's the middle of January, Professor."

Neville sighed. "You can dispense with the 'professors' while we're alone together, James."

"Alone together is an oxymoron, _Sir_. Dan and I found a list of them."

"Yes, Dan. He and your buddy Aaron came to talk to me the other day, James. Have you any idea why?"

"None at all, sir. I'm not my friends' bloody keeper." It had been them, then. Why had he ever thought of Teddy? Did he just not think his friends had the guts?

"James, we would very much appreciate it if you showed us your wrists." Neville said.

"No."

Professor McGonagall sighed. "James, I suppose it's fairly obvious what we'll see if you do. Is there anything you'd like to talk to us about, before we start?"

James sneered. "What is this now, confession? Fine, I copied Dan's Charms homework last Thursday, are you happy?"

"Damn it, James!" Neville swore, glaring at him. "Why are you cutting yourself?"

Professor McGonagall cast him a dark look. It couldn't have been more obvious that this little meeting wasn't going how she'd wanted it to.

"I'm not!" James defended, a little too quickly.

And then Neville got that look on his face. Before he'd opened his mouth to form the first syllable, James knew what he was going to say. He knew exactly what he was going to say. Neville Longbottom had said it so many times over the years, for so many other far less significant reasons. When he'd caught James in a lie that had gone on so long he could barely tell fact from fiction, he'd said it. When James had been throwing a tantrum for hours whilst Neville was babysitting, beating his fists on the floor and screaming his lungs out, and neither was backing down, he'd said it. He'd said it so many times over the years that James's brain said it along with him without thought as he shook his head slowly and began to speak in a calm, quiet monotone. "This is the end of the line, James. Either you jump off now or you crash and burn. Make your choice."

James might have found himself confessing it all had he not had a response to this which he'd been chewing on for years, wondering if he'd ever be brave or desperate enough to use it. He was desperate now. Was he brave? Probably not. It was rather a cowardly thing to do, not to mention highly immoral and illegal. But it was necessary. He steeled himself. Without a thought to the presence of Professor McGonagall, he leaned forward across the table towards the bespectacled man across from him, staring him straight in the eye. "Actually, we're wizards, Neville. We could use our wands."

And without another word, James's wand was out of his pocket, he'd sent jinxes flying, barely registering what he was shouting. Lights flashed, spells ricocheted off the walls, and the Professors barely had time to pick themselves up off the floor and right their splintered chairs before he was off and running up the lawn towards the castle. He was going to regret that one.

As always, the other figure kept his distance. But a slow smile played at his features. He'd thought the boy was properly caught, there. But it didn't matter. He would get the father up to school, somehow, even if he was beginning to fight the curse. James had more or less served his purpose. He just had one part left to play. Watching his slim figure recede around the back of the towering battlements, and his colleagues struggling up the hill after him, yet far too far away to catch him, the figure felt a twinge of regret. He had managed to escape situation after situation, ingeniously. It really was a shame, that he was going to have to kill him. But no, the figure reminded himself. The boy was just a pawn. A pawn in a greater plan. A plan for vengeance.

**_So, hi! Clearly, we're wrapping it up, here. Has anyone got any last guesses as to who our mysterious figure is? Mostly because I'm curious, but I'd also like to see if I'm somehow being ridiculously obvious- I've never tried writing this type of story before, for all I know, you knew from the first chapter. (Although that doesn't seem possible.) Anyway, reviews are your tickets to rapid posts, I hope to hear from you!_**


	35. Chapter 35

With the tweet of the whistle Teddy launched himself into the air, seemingly hurtling into space for a moment before he jerked the finely polished handle, causing the broom to stop with a lurch. The referee sent the quaffle soaring, and he caught it easily, swinging it underhand to Dan Apollo, who caught it by the tips of his fingers and in turn hurled across the pitch to Fidelio Micheals.

Ravenclaw's keeper Scarlett Hanning was kept busy, her dark braid swinging behind her as she caught or missed goal after goal. Teddy was quite proud of his chasers. Over the months they had become a seamless team Puddlemere United would have been proud of, although Dan could use a little more experience.

Riley Gordon's voice echoed across the pitch. This was probably the only place teachers accepted Teddy's friend's loud, fast, melodramatic speaking talents, and even so, Professor McGonagall kept close watch on him.

"And its sixth year Eric Macmillan of Ravenclaw with the quaffle, Macmillan going up the pitch. Passes to Charlotte Dracer but intercepted by Micheals of Gryffindor, who turns it around. Passes to Lupin and away he goes! Dodges a bludger but manages to keep hold of the quaffle before passing to Apollo! Dan goes for Hanning, going for the goal; will he make it? Evidently not. Nice save for Ravenclaw, I guess. And its Dracer with the quaffle, pass to Macmillan intercepted by Lupin…. Lupin shoots…. Lupin scores! And that's another ten points to Gryffindor! Take that, Eagles!"

Eric had the quaffle again, and was heading for the goalposts, going low. Teddy swooped a slow arch to follow him.

"And its Macmillan with the quaffle, Lupin hot on his tail. A bludger shot from Aaron Skelling causes him to drop the quaffle…. That may have hurt…. But its caught by Ravenclaw chaser Mia Rodgers… who incidentally still won't go to Hogsmeade with me… even though I've asked four times now…"

Charlotte Dracer, who aside from being captain of the Ravenclaw team was also the brown haired chaser's best friend, shouted over her shoulder, "Can it, Gordon!" and still managed to turn with a defiant swing of her white-blonde ponytail and catch the quaffle a rather red-faced Mia sent her way.

"Jeepers! Alright, Professor… I've got it, yes, I know. I know!" Riley tugged the magical microphone away from Professor McGonagall's irate grip. "Right… score is thirty nil to Gryffindor… Dracer with the quaffle, flying up the pitch… she's got a temper, that one…. Which happens to relate to Quidditch (Professor McGonagall!) because she applies it well to vigorously score goals… or something… Anyway, passes to MacMillan who passes to Rodgers, who catches it with remarkable skill and grace, as always, before a perfect pass back up the line to Dracer who… Scores. Brilliant. Wake up, Potter, that was an easy save!"

"Mister Gordon!"

"All right, all right!"

Teddy glanced at his god brother with a concerned frown. James was clutching the handle of his broom so tightly it made his bones pop out against his skin, and his face was deathly white. The eldest Potter may have taken his stare as an angry one, though, for he turned quickly away, looking defiant.

The game progressed. There seemed to be no sign of the snitch, despite the intent searches of both sides, and James's ability to prevent the quaffle from entering the golden hoops he guarded seemed to be decreasing rapidly.

Riley seemed a mite despairing. "And so once again it's Dracer with the quaffle… save it, James, maybe? Guess not, That's fifty –ninety to Ravenclaw, and Lupin's got the quaffle, passes it to Micheals, takes a quick look around the pitch and… wait a minute… Where is he going?"

For Teddy, instead of speeding into place to receive the next pass, had turned a quick one-eighty, accelerated, and was now speeding towards the opposite end of the pitch.

"Ted…? You're scoring the other way… Right, Apollo with the quaffle, but he… drops it and goes after Lupin? Am I missing something? Ravenclaw in possession…"

Any color had gone from James's face, and he was shaking, clutching the broom, his breath coming in gasps. Teddy was drawing closer, thirty feet… twenty…

James's eyes rolled back into his head, and he slumped forward off the broom.

Teddy seemed to be watching in slow motion as his figure swayed, then dipped forward, and then he slowly slipped sideways, then… he was falling. Falling gracefully, almost, as if he were diving. Diving. Dying. Head first towards the ground.

Teddy lurched forward, felt both arms leave his own broom, felt himself slip forward off the handle, but he held tight with his legs and caught James with a crunch, the sudden extra weight almost too much for the broom, which bucked unhappily.

Teddy slid back into a better position, his heart racing. He pulled James's legs around so he was seated on the broom in front of him, one arm tight across his chest to keep him on the broom as his head lolled.

And as Teddy leant around him to guide his broom carefully for the ground, he knew he had made an awful mistake. It was unbelievable, how light and thin James was. He was honestly surprised he hadn't blown off his broom already. He could feel each of James's ribs through his uniform, jostling against his arm. He could feel the collar bone and shoulder blades near his hand, each sticking out like sabers. James felt like nothing more than a skeleton, and he was so very, very pale.

And at his neck, where the tips of Teddy's fingers brushed, he could feel a heartbeat. A fast, irregular pulse throbbing at the side of his throat. Weak one minute, strong the next. By no means the steady rhythm he was used to. And Teddy bumped to the ground, the slight thud seeming to rattle James's bones. And for the briefest instant, he was completely terrified to let his god brother leave his arms. Somehow, he seemed just a bit safer there… more alive. But the next moment, they were surrounded. And Teddy let Neville pull James out of his arms, let Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey usher them away, let Professors Beekman, O'Keefe, Manchester and Creevey hurry after. He let the panicked voices of the crowd sweep up his mind and carry it, far, far away to some other place. And it seemed little more than a shell of Teddy Lupin that Riley dragged up to the changing rooms, leaving the clear, blue skies of the Quidditch match in another world.


	36. Chapter 36

Harry Potter sat in a straight, hard backed chair at the end of his eldest son's hospital bed, staring at his pale, limp form on the verge of tears. There was something he needed to think about… something he needed desperately to do, to say, to tell his little boy, but he couldn't. The edges of his brain felt fuzzy, a fog so dense he couldn't see, couldn't move, couldn't act through it. It was killing him. And it was worse at Hogwarts. So much worse at Hogwarts. Which scared him. But just enough that he could feel it, not quite enough to get his adrenaline pumping, to heighten his senses, to push him over the edge of that fog.

_Someone is in danger_, thought the boy who lived, now an adult. _Someone is incredible danger, and I think it's my family. And I think it's because of me._

Then the door opened, and in hurried his wife, and his two other children, looking hurried and scared.

_Not half as scared as they should be_, a tiny part of the back of Harry's mind registered as he stood to greet them, as Madam Pomfrey, Professor McGonagall and Neville rushed over. And deep in the back of his brain, that tiny part laughed.

Harry's spine tingled, and his hand lurched towards his wand. But he pulled it away. He wouldn't.

It moved there again, and this time he grabbed it. But then he wrenched his fingers apart, and it fell to the floor. Moving quickly, before he felt the urge to grab it again, Harry kicked it, letting it clatter across the floor, going unnoticed.

Harry Potter was now wandless. He could neither hurt, nor defend, his family.

His son stirred as his wife turned to him. "It's time," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's time to tell them everything. This can't go on any longer."

And Harry Potter's brain exploded into a million pieces.

The murmur of voices washed over James like a tide, and he lay still as death in the hospital bed, his eyes lilting half open, then closed, watching the colors, the people, blur and distort.

James decided he must be hallucinating. He had no family at Hogwarts, yet he could see them seated around him. It was rather nice, he supposed. His Dad- a black blur in green robes- who wasn't attacking anyone. His Mum- a fiery red smudge in purple Ministry Press robes- who wasn't panicking, acting overly calm and rational, or obliviating anyone. His brother- a black splotch in a green t-shirt and… jeans?- not crying. His sister- An orange shape in pink leggings and a purple t-shirt- not bleeding. And Teddy- today he was a periwinkle haze in Hogwarts robes, shirt, and Gryffindor tie, but James couldn't remember what periwinkle indicated, mood wise. Peace? Worry? Concern? No- that was mauve. Or was that fear? He wasn't sure- Teddy wasn't grabbing James's wrists and frowning. Or was he frowning? James squinted, grimaced, and peered as best he could, but he couldn't quite make it out. Any more than he could make out the voices. He tried to sit up, but his head had barely left his pillow before darkness clouded the edges of his vision, and he slumped back into sleep.

"You said it started- mildly- the day after you picked James up at the platform for Summer Vacation?" Professor McGonagall asked, frowning, as Neville beside her shut his mouth abruptly; it had been hanging slightly open since the middle of his friends' tale.

Ginny nodded, and her voice was shaky. Harry reflected vaguely that this should concern him- Ginny never cried, but he was preoccupied. In the back of his head, the steady beat of rapid footsteps growing closer overwhelmed him, and he stared about apprehensively, prepared to shout out a warning. Something was wrong. Someone- _Him_- was coming closer. And closer.

"That next morning, he lost his temper, screamed and shouted for a moment, then just- stopped. He couldn't remember what he'd done, or why he'd done it." Ginny told them. "As I said, he didn't start getting physical until… Maybe mid-July, and he started using his wand at the end of August or beginning of September."

"What-," Neville began, frowning, that familiar look of befuddlement across his brow.

"Stop," Harry said suddenly. Loudly. "Just stop."

He clutched his head in his hands, breathing deeply, his heart racing.

"I need to warn you-," he gasped.

But pain erupted in his spine, in his head, and he had to swallow a scream.

But then his head cleared, alarmingly. For the first time, he could think clearly, and it was almost a shock. But parts of his brain seemed inaccessible, and he couldn't understand why, and then-

And then the door swung open.

And someone walked in, his wand drawn.

"A bedside staff party? Without me? I'm disappointed…"

And an alarming sense of Déjà vu roped Harry, filling him with a sense of… almost… irony, with little room for the prickle of betrayal, as he gasped, "You!"

The feeling intensified as the person stood in the door way, though not Quirrel, responded with precisely the same warped smile.

"Me."


	37. Chapter 37

**_Sorry for the wait, my computer has been out of commission! Reviews are appreciated! _**

Professor Dennis Creevey turned to the door behind him, tapping the handle with his wand, the snick of the lock audible even from across the room. When he turned around, Ginny and Professors McGonagall and Longbottom had their wands out as well, pointed straight at him.

"Oh, you won't be needing those," he said with a casual flick of his own instrument, which sent their wands spinning suddenly out of their hands.

At their stunned looks, Dennis cast Harry a manic grin. "Disarming- Dumbledore's Army, first lesson, do you remember? The element of surprise…"

"What the hell are you playing at?" Harry hissed.

"I'm not playing games, Potter," Dennis retorted, still with a feverish gleam in his eye. "Do you have any idea how long I've been planning this?"

"What do you want?" Ginny asked, staring at the lean, mousy haired man, the sting of hurt visible in her voice. She had known him… trusted him. He'd had Christmas at their house for Merlin's sake…

"What do I want?" Dennis asked, his voice rising, staring at her, then at each of them. "I want all of you dead!"

"Dennis!?" Ginny said, staring.

"Why?" Harry asked, staring him in the face.

"You killed him!" Dennis shot back, standing, pacing.

"Voldemort?" Harry exclaimed, baffled.

"He trusted you… He was willing to fight for you… Die for you…"

Not Voldemort, then. But this couldn't be about…

"He dragged me down through the passage that night, told me to stay and hide, and then threatened to curse me if I followed him! The last I saw of my brother was his wand in my face, telling me to get down and wait for him, he was going to go fight for Harry Potter, and then he'd come right back! He promised…"

It was.

"Colin!" Dennis cried, his face twisted in torment. "He worshipped you, we both did, and you let him die! You didn't save him."

"Dennis," Professor McGonagall said quickly, carefully, "Dennis, think-."

"He doesn't even know the war is over!" Dennis shouted. "He never knew! He's sixteen, and he'll always be sixteen. Do you have any idea how hard it was to get older than my big brother will ever be? And it's all your bloody fault! Who the hell cares if Voldemort's dead! COLIN DIED FIRST!"

Harry's face twisted. "I know," he whispered.

"Fuck you," Dennis breathed, then he aimed his wand, pointing it directly at Ginny. "_Avada Ked_-,"

"_Expelliarmous!"_ A voice rasped from behind them all.

James was propped up on one arm, his wand hand trembling as Colin lost his grip on his wand.

James cast him a furious look. "Disarming, Professor Creevey," he snarled, "First spell my dad ever taught me. He wanted me to be able to defend myself from scum like you. He's a great Dad, but you took that away from him."

Dennis's glare was so pronounced James could nearly feel it burning him. "And what did _he_ take from me, James Potter?"

He took the smallest of steps, coming towards him. James glanced around. The adults all looked at a lost. No one could protect him.

Dennis picked up his wand. No one stopped him.

His father was far paler than he'd ever been. His mother was shaking. Albus's eyes were wide behind his glasses, Lily was crying.

"Exp-," James began again, but with a flick of Dennis's wand, he was silenced. His mouth formed the rest of the spell, but no words came out. Only feet away, Albus's lips worked, but he couldn't speak. No one could.

"Want to see how it feels, James?" Dennis leered, a manic smile spreading across his face. "Want to see how it feels to lose a brother?"

Suddenly, Harry was between Dennis and Albus, shaking his head darkly, standing tall and looming with his arms spread before both his sons. He could say nothing, but the message was clear. _Don't you go near my children._

Dennis laughed, louder than before. "_Petrificus Totalus_!"

Harry's arms and legs snapped together, and he fell motionless to the floor, his eyes wide.

"I want you awake for this, Potter," Dennis said mercilessly, dragging him into an upright position and propping him against the wall, jamming on the glasses that had fallen to the floor.

Harry looked on in horror, his expression frozen.

"You know," Dennis said, evidently thinking aloud, "That's actually a really good idea."

Whirling his wand on Ginny, he shouted, "Petrificus Totalus!"

Before she could duck out of the way, the spell hit her square in the chest; her arms snapping to her sides and her legs binding like glue.

The same happened to Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey, too old to fight it, and to Neville, trying desperately to defend them. They were moved to be propped beside James's parents, expressions fixed in terror.

But Teddy stood his ground. As a beam of light shot his way in turn, the metamorphmagus ran, ducking, twisting and turning; the very skills he taught on the Quidditch pitch, until Dennis grew tired of firing at him.

In an instant, his wand dug into Albus's throat, and though Albus's gasps and Lily's screams made not a sound, Dennis's voice echoed in the room. "Stop."

Teddy froze, his gaze locked on Albus, and Dennis hit him square in the chest.

So the adults watched, helpless, as Dennis turned to James, the unfrozen.

"Are you ready, James?" Dennis asked softly. "Time to learn. You won't be so cocky, after this."

His wand turned on Albus, and tears streamed down the younger boy's face as he cowered.

But James was out from beneath the covers like a shot, standing before his brother, his arms folded defiantly, staring Dennis in the face.

"Touching," he laughed, "But step away, James, or I'll _kill_ you."

James let his arms drop to his sides, palms open.

And scanning his face, the others in the room knew. James was well aware of what would happen. He knew Dennis was being serious. He was willing to die to save his brother.

And not a single person in the room could save him.

Lily was shrieking at the top of her lungs, tears rolling down her cheeks, but the room was silent as a tomb.

James's eyes were locked on the tip of Dennis's wand, his brown eyes still defiant, but his face pale as anything, his freckles flashing like beacons. He glanced quickly behind him, at his terrified brother and sister, then ahead at Teddy, Neville, Professor Longbottom and his Mum and Dad.

Then, staring intently at his father's face, he closed his eyes.

"_Kill me,"_ he mouthed, turning to Professor Creevey with his eyes shut tight, burning his father's face into his eyelids.

Professor Creevey laughed, but it was slightly shaky; surprised.

"Colin," he said, then, the manic glint returned to his eyes, he screamed, "_AVADA KEDAVERA!_"

The bolt of green light collided directly with James's chest, the force of the impact sending him backwards slightly.

He fell into his younger brother for the briefest moment, and Albus felt something fall into his hand. Subconsciously, his fingers closed around it as his thirteen year old brother fell to the ground at his feet, still and unmoving.

There was a moment of utter silence, then the sound of his sister's shrieking reached Albus's ears.

His parents' cries of horror. Professors Longbottom and McGonagall, and Madam Pomfrey's shouts of shock and outrage. Teddy's stunned silence as he fell to his knees.

Dennis's spells had broken. James was dead. Albus's guardian lay before him, never to defend him again.

Then he looked down at his hand. In it was his brother's wand.

And he knew what to do with it.


End file.
